The Last Puzzle
by BlackWolf888
Summary: 11 years after the Ceremonial Duel, the yamis inexplicably return to Domino and their hikaris' lives, but not everyone is happy about it. Things have changed, and finding a place in this world is not that simple. Soon they set out to solve the mystery of their return; some in order to make sure that they stay, and some to make sure that they don't. [puzzleshipping, tendershipping]
1. Reborn

**_Welcome to 'The Last Puzzle'!  
_ _I really hope this fandom is not dead yet, because I have a long story to tell. :D_**

 ** _I_ _'ve read many homecoming fics (with THE 'Homecoming' by Fiver taking the cake), but I had this version of it in my head for a while now. I was really intrigued by the idea of Yuugi, Bakura, Malik etc as adults, and how their lives would turn upside-down with the reappearance of their yamis. I mean... This is an entirely different level of a mess. :P_**

 ** _You can expect a lot of drama and romance, a slice-of-life feeling, as well as a plot to tie it all together nicely, but no explicit yaoi (the rating is T and I think I'll keep it that way). Oh, and there's gonna be some swearing and vulgar language, cause, you know... Bakura ain't exactly well-mannered._**  
 ** _You might notice a few mistakes here and there. If you do, notify me so I can correct them, because English is not my mother tongue._**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Reborn**

It was raining hard.

Yuugi was watching the water cascading in rivulets on the windowpane, sparkling under the neon lights of the street. Around him, the café was full of people and noise, as many had sought out a warm cup of coffee on this cold winter evening.

Yuugi clasped his mug and pried his gaze away from the window, turning to the empty chair across from him. Anzu was late. It was probably due to the bad weather, because this was not like her. She was extremely punctual and Yuugi knew this better than anyone: he had known Anzu for twenty years and had been married to her for five of them.

He sighed and looked around. That place had once been the famous Burger World, their favorite hang-out when they were still in high school. Since then it had changed name and owner, and was now a café instead of a burger joint, but it had kept enough of the old furnishing and layout to still be familiar to his eyes.

It had been a long time since he had last set foot in there. Yuugi and his friends had been unconsciously avoiding the place for years, so it came as a surprise when Anzu asked Yuugi to meet her there.

There was a time when they hung out there a lot. That was where Anzu had worked on their first year of high school. Yuugi remembered how embarrassed she had been when he and Jounouchi had run into her during one of her first shifts. That had been quite a day... Yuugi craned his neck a little and managed to get a glimpse of one of the tables on the other side of the café: the one the spirit of the Millennium Puzzle had set on fire on that day. That was back before Yuugi knew about the Millennium Items, or that said spirit was actually a three-thousand-year-old pharaoh.

A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips - as it always did when he remembered Atem - but it wavered and faded quickly. He turned back at the rain that pattered against his reflection on the window.

So many years had passed. Those days of their youth seemed like a dream now: something distant and otherworldly that may or may not have actually happened. Yet, at times like these, when something poked through the dream to the real world - that table was there, _right there_ , its surface scratched off and polished but otherwise still the same - that he was reminded that all of this had been real.

"Yuugi?"

A voice cut into his thoughts. He turned and saw Anzu standing next to him, coat wet and cheeks flushed from the cold. She was smiling at him, albeit tentatively, and she looked absolutely breathtaking. For a while none of them moved, as Yuugi took in her image.

He had not seen Anzu for four months. Even though he had grown up with her and her form was permanently painted in his mind, he still found himself taken by surprise by her sheer beauty. For a few seconds his breath was knocked away, until the dull ache that spread through his chest brought him back to his senses.

"Anzu!" he cried, trying to sound as carefree as possible as he stood up to hug her; she returned the hug stiffly. "Welcome back! How was your flight?"

"Long and boring, as always", she replied as she took off her coat and sat across him. "It's good to be back, though. I missed Domino".

Another pang of dull ache at that. Yuugi lowered his gaze at the contents of his mug as his spirits sunk. A few months ago, she would have said _'I missed you'_.

"Nothing has changed much, as you see", he murmured.

"That's not true", she said cheerfully enough to make Yuugi look up again. "You changed your hair again!"

"Oh, that..." Yuugi mumbled, glancing at his reflection on the rain-stained glass. His black, shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a ponytail. "Yeah, I got rid of the bangs. I figured that at twenty-nine I'm a bit old for bangs".

Anzu snorted. "You know my opinion about this. Your hair was your trademark! Everybody recognized the King of Games' hair!"

Yuugi chuckled and mumbled something about 'too old' and 'job'.

The waiter arrived, bringing Anzu a steaming cup of green tea. They sipped at their beverages for a while, the silence growing increasingly awkward.

"So, umm... Will you stay for the holidays?" Yuugi asked when he felt the silence had stretched on for far too long.

Anzu shook her head. "I'm leaving again for New York in two days".

"So soon?"

"Yes, I have too many things going on at the moment".

"I see".

Silence fell again between them, filled by the bustle of the crowded café and the rhythmical sound of rain hitting glass.

"it's been so long since I've been in this place", Anzu said suddenly, looking around with a fond smile.

"Me too. I didn't expect you to want to come here".

"Well... I guess I've been feeling a bit of nostalgia lately". She laughed, but the sound did nothing to cheer Yuugi up; on the contrary, it added to the pain in his chest.

"Anzu..." he started, gripping at his mug tightly. He looked straight into her eyes, even though he felt as if the indigo of her irises was physically hurting him. "Why did you ask to see me?"

Anzu looked slightly taken aback. When she did not answer, Yuugi went on.

"If it's about the divorce papers, I-"

"Actually, Yuugi", she cut across him in a quiet voice, "I wanted to talk to you".

"I told you, if it's-"

"It's not about the papers. It's-" She paused and took a big breath. "I... I was wondering if... If you are willing to give this another chance".

Yuugi felt his stomach plummet, the way it does when one misses a step on a staircase. He gaped at her, trying to wrap his mind around what she had just said. He felt hope ignite a spark in him that made his heart beat madly, but he tried not to show it. Instead, he shook his head.

"We've been through this so many times before. I mean, it's not as if anything has... changed. You-" He hesitated, hope clashing with disappointment in him. "You said it yourself, you're leaving again in two days, and we've seen that... _this_ ", he pointed at themselves, "can't work like that".

Anzu was biting her lip anxiously. "I'm going back to New York for the last time".

Yuugi found himself gaping once more. "What?"

"I'm going back to empty my apartment. And then I'm coming back to Domino. Permanently".

"But... But..." Yuugi sputtered, "what about your career? What about the theater company, and the-"

"I've had enough of that. I want to come back", Anzu stated decisively.

Yuugi sat back in his chair, lost for words. He had been dreaming of something like that for years: of having Anzu living with him all the time, of not having an ocean separating them, of having her close and not on the other line of a phone. Yet, something inside him made him look at her suspiciously.

"What do I have to do with that?" he asked her, his voice coming out a bit more harsh than he intended it to.

Anzu's jaw actually dropped a bit at his reaction. "But... I already told you. I was thinking of-"

"Are you coming back for _me_ , or because-" Yuugi interrupted her again and then he abruptly stopped talking. He knew her career was not the one she had dreamed of and things had been hard for her lately - in short, she had not succeeded as a dancer - but he stopped himself before saying something of the sort. It would have hurt Anzu to hear it from him and, despite all that had happened between them, Yuugi did not want to hurt her like this.

Because he loved her. Of course he loved her.

But that was not enough to ignore certain things.

"What is my part in this?" he asked again.

Anzu sighed and lowered her head. "Yuugi... I am sorry about the last time... About what I said", she started off, shuffling uncomfortably in her seat and not lifting her gaze from her cup of green tea.

Yuugi pressed his lips together in a tight line and kept himself from saying anything. He did not want to think about the fight they had before Anzu's last departure.

"You know I've been in under a lot of pressure lately - well, for years, actually. It has been hard to concentrate on us with all that has been going on and I know that the biggest part of the blame lies on me", she went on in a much more confident voice. "However, I do believe that, once I move back to Domino, things will be much better and it will be easier to work this out-"

Yuugi turned his gaze to the window once more as Anzu kept talking, barely stopping to draw a breath. She was hesitant and unsure before, but now it seemed like she was reciting a well-rehearsed speech. He let her go on, only half-paying attention to what she was saying, while his eyes focused on the raindrops that clung to the other side of the glass.

He could not remember for how many years he wished for Anzu to come back to Domino. He never asked it of her, because he wanted to be supportive of her choice to make it as a dancer in New York, but this long-distance arrangement had been too hard for him. He spent the last years missing her and wishing that she would just stay with him, that he could see her every day like when they were younger. Now that it was finally so close to happening, he was not as excited as he thought he would be - not even close. Now that his wish was close to coming true, something was bothering him.

It seemed like all he ever did was wait for someone, pray and hope. All those years ago, he wished on the Millennium Puzzle for friends. After that adventure, after the Ceremonial Duel, he wished that he could see Atem once more; he had lost count of how many years it took him to get used to missing the pharaoh. And of course, after Atem there was Anzu.

How many years had he spent like this? All his life seemed like an endless streak of expectancy and fervent wishing; always waiting for something or someone. And he had grown tired of it. Too tired and too disappointed. He could not wait any longer for something that would never happen. Sure, Anzu said that she was finally coming back to Domino, but distance had not been their only problem. He could not expect this to fix everything. He did not expect anything any more, he simply had no more energy left for hope.

The reflection of his violet eyes looked back at him accusingly. He had lost his faith. Yuugi, who had never given up no matter how bleak things looked, had finally lost his faith.

He sighed deeply, feeling worn out like an old man.

He noticed Anzu had stopped talking. She was looking at him with sparkling blue eyes, apparently waiting for his answer to what she had just said and oblivious to the fact that Yuugi had barely heard half of it.

He let out an exhale heavily laden with fatigue and rose to his feet. "I... I'll think about it", was all he said, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation and leave. He tried to avoid her gaze as he reached for his coat and his briefcase and rushed out of the crowded café, leaving his half-drunk coffee and Anzu behind.

The walk back to his apartment was a long one, but it did not occur to him to call a cab. He crossed the wet streets slowly, rain pattering heavily on the top of his umbrella and cold biting at his exposed hands. His feet took him back to his neighborhood of their own accord; he was too lost in thought to pay attention to where he was going. In his mind were swirling thoughts about Anzu, and the divorce, and Atem, and all those years that had not been exactly as he thought they would be, and then back to Anzu once more.

What a mess they had made of things. When he was younger he liked to think that he would grow up to marry to Anzu. What he never expected was that he would end up getting a divorce from her. He had thought that, if they ended up together, that would be it. He always believed that once he'd find one he truly loved, that would be it. He knew now that this was not the case. It was a sad realization, but perhaps this disillusionment was part of growing up.

And now she was asking for a second chance. He wanted to give their marriage a chance, he did. But how could he forget so easily about everything else? How could he forget about that last time, about the things she said before slamming the door to his face? She hadn't spoken in rage, she had meant every word. Was this something they could salvage...?

A thunder rumbled in the distance and he blinked at the entrance of his apartment building, momentarily unaware that he had reached his destination. He started fumbling for his keys with frozen fingers.

He had just managed to make his numb hands cooperate and was about to put the key in the lock, when a low, weak voice reached him, barely audible over the sound of heavy rain.

"Aibou...?"

Yuugi's hands froze mid-air. He knew that voice. He knew it all too well. But he couldn't have heard correctly. He couldn't have, because it was years since... It had been years that he hadn't heard... It could not be.

His throat made a dry swallowing sound as dread crept up on him. Out of all emotions; dread. Because this could not be, even though he had heard it clearly enough. He must have lost it. After so many years, he had finally cracked now. Surely, after meeting Anzu and thinking so much about her and Atem, his mind must have-

"Aibou".

His heart gave such a lurch he felt light-headed with it. He could not have imagined _that_ , too; he had definitely heard it. His breath formed a faint crescent of white steam as he slowly turned to the direction of the sound, ready for nothing more than to face a curtain of rain and the emptiness of night beyond that.

Because, if life had taught him something in those last eleven years, it was that one never gets what one expects.

So, he did not expect to meet the steady gaze of crimson eyes, nor a mane of achingly familiar - even if slumped by the rain - tri-colored hair, nor the tired, confused, tremulous but otherwise genuine smile of pharaoh Atem.

Yuugi's knees crashed to the ground, following shortly after his keys and briefcase.

* * *

A man lay face down on the sidewalk like a drop of pure white in the dark night. Nobody noticed the exact moment of his appearance, because the few passers-by hurried along their ways with faces hidden in scarves or the collars of their coats.

If anyone spared a glance at him they might have thought him dead, for he was neither breathing nor moving. The truth was that, at first, he was indeed as good as dead: nothing more than pale limbs and white hair sprawled on the wet concrete. But the unnatural stillness did not last for long, because after a while the man's heart gave a small, uncertain thud. Blood pumped through his cold veins one, two, three times before settling for a rhythmic pulse.

Thief King Bakura's heart had woken up.

The first breath he took was more of a rasping sound than an actual inhale. His body gave a violent twitch as air rushed in from his mouth and surprised his lungs with its force.

His eyes snapped open, crazed and unfocused. Pain spread from his chest to the rest of his body.

He had managed to draw in a breath, but he seemed unable to either let it out or draw in a new one. His lungs were burning. His fingers curled and clawed at the coarse ground as his body convulsed in his struggle to inhale, but the air seemed to stop somewhere along his windpipe. No images registered; his mind was panic and fire. His ears were buzzing so hard he couldn't even hear the pitiful, hissing sounds he was making.

Some instinct drove him to climb to his elbows; a bit of the pressure on his stomach and chest was alleviated and cool air finally rushed to his lungs. He gulped down as much air as possible before his body protested again.

He choked on his own greedy breaths and a queasy feeling rose from his stomach to his throat. For a moment he felt like drowning; then he convulsed violently and he retched. All that came out was a bitter liquid that added a burning in his throat and left him spitting and coughing.

Slowly, very slowly, the coughing and gasping gave way to proper breaths, however shallow and uneven. He raised a hand to wipe at his mouth.

When his fingertips touched his lips, he went still. The cold contact ignited a spark in his blank mind. He stretched his fingers in front of him, all the while trying to blink the darkness of his eyes away.

Shapes came into focus and he found himself looking at his violently trembling hand. His breath formed weak tufts of fog as he gazed, transfixed, at the limb before him, trying to grasp what he was seeing. For no distinguishable reason, he tried curling and uncurling his fingers. He felt a pang of satisfaction when the hand before him responded to his mind's commands.

Next he noticed the transparent drops that splashed on his flesh, each one of them exploding into countless tiny sparkles and sending a freezing sting through him. He knew this feeling, this continuous pin-prick pressure on his skin. He even knew that sound with the monotonous rhythm and the comforting quality about it.

Bakura's first conscious thought was that of one word: rain.

He lifted his gaze to see where those droplets came from. Colors and lights dazzled his eyes and the world went blurry. He blinked again and something hot cascaded down his cheeks along with the cold trails of the raindrops; he thought of tears with a kind of vague amazement. Clouds stretched overhead, dark grey with a tinge of red. Buildings rose all around him, dazzlingly high and speckled with neon signs and illuminated windows. Multi-colored cars glistened in a world of water and light.

Bakura managed to sit up, still panting, and gazed around in a mixture of amazement and confusion. Every breath bit at his lungs and he was shivering from the cold, but he focused his attention to the sign across from him. Despite his foggy mind, he found out he could read the harsh neon letters. Still, it took him a moment to realize that they were not hieroglyphs of some sort. They were Japanese. _Japanese_.

His next thought was, _Domino_.

He looked around but nothing looked familiar, not the street nor the buildings surrounding it. His own body caught his attention: the long white hair that were plastered on his naked chest, the thin limbs, the pale skin. He went back to observing his hands, recognition stirring in him. He knew this body, but it was not his own _per se_ \- not his own, ancient Egyptian one, with the tanned skin and the scars and the well-built muscles. This looked like his old host's body.

"Mom, look!"

Bakura's head snapped around, his body instinctively flinching to the sudden squeal. He spotted a woman standing a few feet away from him, umbrella clutched in one hand and a child in the other. The little girl was gawking at him with eyes wide in curiosity, while the woman looked positively horrified.

"Mom, where are his clothes? Isn't he cold?" the child asked with what sounded like genuine interest.

The woman grabbed at the child's hand and dragged her to the other side of the road, casting fearful and disgusted glances at Bakura while the kid kept asking about his clothes in a high-pitched voice.

Bakura simply watched them until they disappeared around a corner, mouth hanging half-open. He had never felt more lost in his life - at least, not as far as he could remember.

He shut his eyes and groped around the murky mess that were his thoughts for his most recent recollection. He could faintly remember a room, a half-lit hall with massive columns. He could remember tall figures looking down at him. He could remember the scale and the spell. And, indistinctly, he could remember the dazzling white light as the gate cracked open.

He opened his eyes, feeling his newly acquired breath catch in his throat. If that was the afterlife, the Gods had a very twisted concept of paradise.

He frowned at the dark street. He felt too weak to stand, but he had to find shelter before he could even start to fathom making some sense out of this. He tried to rise to his feet, only to have his wobbly legs give in and collapse in a quickly-largening pool of rainwater. His head spun from the sudden movement and he grunted in frustration. He gave it another try, this time managing to take a couple of steps before he ended up panting on the sidewalk again, the tips of his white hair swimming in a pool of mud and his heart and lungs stinging from even that minuscule exertion. He took a moment to catch his breath, feeling more pathetic than ever.

Thunder rumbled overhead, cloaking the sound of footsteps splashing their way towards him. Bakura lifted his head wearily and tried to see past his own sopping hair, ready for another mortal that would run away in terror.

Somebody had spotted him, but they did not seem to run away from him. On the contrary, they were hurrying towards him, holding an umbrella and what looked suspiciously like a towel. Somebody tall and thin; somebody with long, white hair, very much like his own.

Big, chocolate-brown eyes widened as the person who owned them staggered before freezing in his tracks. The umbrella slipped from the newcomer's fingers and got carried away by the wind.

The Thief King tried to lift himself from the ground, not peeling his eyes off the man before him. When his voice came out, it was hoarse and low.

"Hello, yadonushi".

.

.

.

.

.

 ** _Well... Coming back to life is no easy task._**

 ** _It's weird writing about an adult Yuugi. It feels almost OOC, but I guess that a person changes after 11 years (and some hurtful events). Same goes for Ryou, but we'll see more of him later on._**

 ** _So, chapter 1 is done and I'd love to hear your feedback!_**

 ** _Review?_**


	2. A not-so-happy reunion

**Chapter 2: A not-so-happy reunion**

When Ryou happened to look out of his window and spot the man on the pavement, he saw nothing more than a person in need. He didn't give it much thought before he grabbed a towel and an umbrella and rushed down the five flights of stairs and out to the street. And he didn't manage to get a better look at the man on the pavement until he was too close.

The first thing that struck him had been, of course, the mane of hair that covered the man's face: long and white like snow, despite the traces of mud that clung on it. That alone made Ryou stop dead in his tracks as an all-too-familiar jumble of feelings swelled in him.

That had not been the first time to freeze at the sight of someone's white hair. He had spent years constantly looking over his shoulder and jumping even at his own reflection, but he had been over it for a while now. He had finally reached a point where the head of an old man was not enough to throw him into fits of paranoia.

All the same, when he finally managed to distinguish hair from pale limbs, Ryou felt a tweak of dread, accompanied by the feeling that everything but his heart was going numb. In cases of such disturbing coincidences, he usually managed to calm down his speeding pulse with a second, more careful look, but this was not one of those times. This time dread kept scraping at his insides as he squinted, trying to see past the heavy rain and the deep shadows of the night.

The man was thin - too thin, even - and looked like he had trouble lifting himself from the rain-soaked pavement. That on itself should be incentive enough for Ryou to start functioning again and go help him, but he didn't move. The more he looked, the more uneasy he felt. His heart rate had started speeding up to painful levels.

That hair... was _just right_. Just the right length, the right color, the right texture. Soaked though they might be, he could tell, even from a distance; in all his years he had seen hair such as these only in his mirror. And that hand that clawed at the ground, the thin muscles of the arm tensing in an effort to lift the body off the ground-

Just as panic had started mingling with the dread in the pit of Ryou's stomach, the fallen man, probably intrigued by the sound of footsteps stopping a mere five feet away from him, lifted his head.

Ryou's blood went cold. He could have easily thought that he was, indeed, looking into a mirror, if it weren't for the eyes that pierced him. Even in the harsh chiaroscuro of the street lamps, he recognized that look.

He recognized the way the eyebrows tilted in a mixture of arrogance and annoyance. He recognized the slight squint that made those eyes angular and fierce enough to be considered a threat of their own. He recognized the way the darkness licked those features, pooling under eyebrows and in hollow cheeks, embracing that face as if it were its kin.

It was him.

It was _him_.

There was the second of pure bewilderment when Ryou thought that he was mad, or drunk, or dreaming, or anything but in his right mind, until the man opened his mouth and spoke to him.

"Hello, yadonushi".

His voice was rasping and hoarse; the sound of flesh dragged on gravel and of nails scratching bronze and of five golden points digging in skin-

"No".

Ryou moaned his weak denial as he backed away, feet moving of their own accord.

His mind was filled with static. Raindrops trailed their way into his eyes, blurring his vision, but he did not bother to blink them away. The rest of the world turned into wavering shapes of light and dark, but the man before him didn't. The man before him refused to disappear like a common trick of the eyes. He remained, body glistening under the sparkling rain, naked chest rising and falling rapidly, tainting the darkness of the night with the white fog formed by his heavy breaths.

Suddenly Ryou became aware that he was no longer holding an umbrella and that he was soaked to the bone, but the chill that had frozen his insides had nothing to do with rain. Something prickling and cold was working its way through each and every one of his nerves like a paralytic drug.

The fallen man was the first to move: he made a feeble attempt to lift himself from the ground, never taking his eyes off Ryou.

As if that was the cue Ryou had been waiting for, his whole body tensed. With the next heartbeat, blood rushed through his frozen veins. It was not a matter of thinking; pure survival instinct made him turn on the spot and break to a run.

"Hey!" he heard the man's rough voice over the sound of rumbling thunder and his own splashing footsteps. The sound only made him run faster, making for his apartment building as if he was chased by the devil himself.

"Hey, wait!"

Ryou ran as fast as he could without slipping on the wet concrete, his thoughts diminished to the single need of _not letting that man get to him_.

He did not bother to slow down to a halt as he reached his destination, so he crashed on the entrance door of his apartment building with a loud thud that would have surely hurt on any other given minute. He almost ripped out his jeans' pocket in his haste to reach his keys.

"Nonononono-" he breathed as he fumbled with them, heart beating in his throat. He thought he could hear erratic footsteps sloshing around somewhere far behind him and his panic mounted.

He was trying to shove the right key into the lock, but the door was swimming before his eyes. His stomach was churning in anguish and he thought he might be sick right then and there, but he steadied himself when he felt the triumphant click of the lock. He turned the key with such force it was a miracle that it didn't snap and lunged all of his weight on the door.

He did not pause to look behind, he simply scrambled in and tackled the door shut. He planted his feet in the floor and pressed his back against the door, ready to hold it shut with his body if it came to it.

The sound of his own frantic breathing bounced off the bare walls of the hall and up the dark staircase. Nothing else moved. Ryou fixed his eyes on the opposite wall, gasping through his teeth. He could see his own heaving shadow against it, cast thanks to the little light that drifted in from the milky glass panels of the entrance door.

His body trembled as terror and panic fought for dominance in him.

"You're not real... You're not real... You're not real..." he repeated over and over in shaky breaths.

Because that was the only explanation. Obviously, his mind had gone haywire, conjuring ghosts out of rain and shadows. Tricks of the mind, caused by sleep deprivation and stress. Nothing made sense otherwise. What Ryou had just seen could not be real.

The Millennium Ring and its inhabitant were gone and had been gone for the past eleven years. A whole new life stood between the Ryou of the present and the Ryou that walked around with the Ring on his neck and his mind split in half. A whole new, normal life. _Normal_ , with no more magic or shadow games or mad spirits whispering in his head. That was behind him for good; so far behind, that Ryou had finally managed to forget thinking about it.

This was the normal world. And in the normal world, people did not come back from the dead.

"You're not real... You're not real... You're not real..."

The door rattled as something heavy fell gracelessly on it. The shadow Ryou cast on the opposite wall was obscured as another form cut out the feeble street illumination that flitted in. Ryou stopped his mantra and held his breath, watching the two overlapping shadows with huge eyes.

"Yadonushi", a gruff voice called.

Ryou tensed like an animal ready to lash out. No amount of whispering to himself could convince him now that the rasping breath on the other side of the door was not real.

"Open up".

Ryou bit down hard on his lip to hold back the terrified whimper that threatened to escape him. His legs gave in and he slid down the length of the door, ending up in a trembling heap at its base. His head was spinning and he wanted to throw up but, at least, he was far from fainting. He couldn't allow himself to faint now - it was too dangerous.

Because, apparently, the man on the other side of the door was real. His yami was back, in flesh and blood of his own, banging on his door. His yami, the _other him_ , the Thief, the spirit - Bakura - was back, even though he was supposed to be dead, or lost in the darkness, or in whatever afterlife had in store for him.

The door rattled again.

"Open up. I can see you're still there". _Damn glass panels_.

The yami's voice was fiercer now, his tone more commanding than before. Ryou cringed as a mess of sleeping memories stirred at the familiar sound. He instinctively reached for his chest in a gesture he had not made in years; he grabbed only the fabric of his sweater, right over his racing heart. No Ring there, which was a slight comfort but did not make any sense at all.

On the other hand, when did something about _that man_ ever make any sense? He had been brought back from the - presumably - dead before. He had managed to withstand 3000 years of imprisonment in a piece of gold in order to ensure another chance in life. Apparently, hell had spat him back out again, Ring or no Ring.

Ryou swallowed this realization, feeling like he was being force-fed acid.

Not even five minutes back and that man already sounded like he'd never left at all, giving out orders with the nerve of a king and the promise of threat dripping off his voice, demanding to open this door so he can strut back into his life and destroy what little bit Ryou had managed to salvage.

Well, Ryou wouldn't have any of this. More than a decade had passed and he had felt the sting of every single day. He had felt time in his bones, had shed his sweet and innocent skin again and again until it had hardened. He was no longer a weak teenager; he was a twenty-nine-year-old man who had stopped putting up with everyone's shit a long time ago.

So, with the next command that slid through the cracks in the door, anger flared up in Ryou. This was not the 'good old days' anymore and he would show his yami just what toll every tock of the clock had taken on him.

"Damn it, open up, it's cold-"

Ryou jumped to his feet and turned the handle, almost prying it off with the force of swinging the door open. For barely a second, he took in the image of Bakura standing naked on his doorstep, sopping wet and haggard-looking, with a backdrop of rain and thunder. Then rage consumed all other emotions and Ryou pounced on his yami, grabbing him from whatever place he reached first and somehow ending with both hands on his throat.

Bakura staggered backwards from the momentum, with Ryou clawed on him like an enraged cat, until they both stood under the heavy rain once more.

"Eleven years", Ryou growled from the depths of his throat, barely recognizing his own voice. "Eleven. Fucking. Years. Eleven years gone!"

Bakura, who seemed ready to hiss another command, froze with his mouth half-open. His eyes met Ryou's - and god damn him, seeing his muddy-red irises from this close only helped to further stoke Ryou's fury.

"Eleven years free of you!" he screamed into the yami's face, ripping through an octave in exasperation.

Bakura's eyes widened a fraction, still fixed on Ryou. His frown slowly reversed to crinkle his temple in confusion.

"What...?" he breathed, his voice so low that Ryou barely heard it over the sound of rain. He wouldn't be sure whether Bakura had spoken at all, had he not seen the frail cloud of steam the little word had left behind.

"Why? Why are you back? Why now? Why?" Ryou shouted, not caring whether he tore his lungs apart or not, shaking Bakura so violently he felt his nails sink in skin.

Bakura's hands went up to Ryou's wrists to keep them still, but he did not try to wrestle himself free. His eyes were losing their angular edge by the second.

"What do you...? Eleven...?" he stammered through Ryou's grip on his throat, his gaze travelling wildly across his hikari's face as if he was trying to read something there. Ryou felt the small gasp catch between his fingers as the yami's eyes went wide in surprise.

He was a fine actor but, unfortunately for the yami, Ryou was not buying it.

"WHY?" he roared and a streak of pain tinged his voice this time, infuriating him because he couldn't show weakness, not now, not to _him_ -

"I don't know", Bakura answered, somehow managing to make his hoarse voice audible over the rolling thunders.

Ryou wanted to laugh at that, but he was already spending all of his willpower in refraining from throttling the man before him.

"You lying son of a bi-"

"I'm not lying!" it was Bakura's turn to yell, annoyance creeping back into his frown.

"Bullshit", Ryou spat at him, not believing even for a moment that there was no masterplan behind the bewilderment in the yami's eyes.

"I'm not l-"

Ryou pushed him as hard as he could with a disgusted grunt and watched as he tripped several feet away from him. To Ryou's disappointment, the yami managed to regain his balance without falling over.

Bakura stayed where he ended up, breathing hard through his mouth without peeling his eyes off his hikari. His usual haughtiness had crumbled, giving its place to something more cautious and guarded. He seemed to have trouble standing completely straight; he stood almost doubled over, shaking from the cold as he panted through blue lips.

The fairly pathetic image of his yami did nothing to sway Ryou. If anything, it enraged him even more to see him act all weak and lost. This was no time for games. He wanted an answer. A clear one; one that would grace this mess with at least a grain of logic. One that would mean that the last eleven years of struggle had not just went down the drain.

Ryou's face was burning and he knew that, for once, his fair skin was a bright red that not even the icy rain could cool down.

"How?" he asked this time, voice rumbling in its lowest possible notes.

Bakura huffed and opened his arms.

"I know nothing more than you d-"

"You bastard", Ryou seethed, tightening his hands into fists. Calling names was low, he knew that, but he didn't care. A little while ago, he wouldn't believe that he was capable of feeling such intense loathing, but he was proving himself wrong with every passing minute. He did not have the fondest memories of his yami, but nothing he had felt so far could compete with the hatred that surged through him now.

"How?" he repeated, voice rising.

"I told you, you stubborn brat. I don't know!" Bakura shouted back, his stance gaining something of his old confidence as his voice grew harsher.

Ryou actually managed to let out a sarcastic chuckle this time, a sound colder than the rain that trailed down his back.

"Is it the Ring this time? Or some other trinket?" he persisted.

"I told you, yadonushi, I d-"

He never managed to finish that sentence, because Ryou sprang forward and seized his neck, almost lifting him off the ground in his rage. He brought their faces so close that their identical noses touched.

"Call me that again and I'll send you back to whenever the hell you came from", he gritted out, his jaw clenched so hard that it hurt.

This time Bakura did try to free himself, but Ryou's grip was relentless. He did not care about anything else any more, except for hurting that man as much as he could. He felt that he could rip him apart, right then and there; and if dying didn't work this time either, he would kill him again, and again, until his anger dissipated.

However, when Bakura started making panicked guttural sounds, Ryou released him. The yami immediately backed off, gasping for air and massaging his throat.

Ryou took two deep breaths through his nose, aspiring to calm himself down before losing control again. His pulse was roaring in his head. He had to get out of there as fast as he could; he did not want to look at his yami a second longer.

He pointed a shaking finger at Bakura and said, voice wavering from restrained anger, "I'm not your yadonushi. I'm not your anything. I don't care why you're here, but stay away from me. You hear me? Stay. The hell. Away".

He did not give a chance to him to respond, he just turned him back on him and stormed off.

This time, Bakura did not try to stop him.

* * *

 _ **So... This chapter. This was supposed to be only half a chapter. This was also supposed to be 1500 words shorter. And the other half of the chapter was reserved for our other pair, Yuugi and Atem. Well, my plans certainly went out of the window, because this turned out much longer than I expected.**_

 _ **Expect to see Yuugi and Atem on the next chapter, though - and, hopefully, it will be even longer than this one.**_

 ** _As for Ryou and Bakura... You didn't expect a happy reunion there, did you?_**

 ** _No matter what, tell me what you think! Reviews make for great Christmas presents. Or, you know... Great late Christmas presents._**

 ** _Happy remaining holidays to everyone, and happy new year! :D_**


	3. A bleak day for a homecoming

Chapter 3: A bleak day for a homecoming

"Aibou? Aibou?"

Atem was crouched over the unconscious figure of Yuugi, shaking him as gently as he could despite his mounting panic.

"Aibou, please, talk to me".

Thankfully, his hikari stirred and his eyes fluttered open, revealing a set of violet irises with yet-unfocused pupils. Atem sighed with relief at those signs of life and let his hands drop to his sides, unsure of what else to do.

"Atem...?" Yuugi whispered, blinking as he searched blindly around him until his eyes met the pharaoh's.

Atem almost couldn't bear the warmth that spread through his body at this eye-contact. He felt as if his limbs were liquid and was glad that he was kneeling, or he might have found himself collapsing, too. As Yuugi's gaze cleared and sobered up, it alighted with recognition and something intense that the pharaoh couldn't really name.

"Atem, is that... you? Are you...?" Yuugi muttered in disbelief, stretching out a shaking hand. Atem leaned towards it slightly, almost imperceptibly; Yuugi's fingers found their way around the edge of his face and cupped his jaw.

Yuugi smiled just as tears filled his eyes, instantly spilling over and trailing down his cheeks. His thumb caressed Atem's cheek with a little more pressure than needed, as if double-checking to confirm that he was, indeed, solid.

"Aibou", Atem said, his voice coming out hoarse and quivering. It was a feeble sound, not befitting to a king, but there was a tightness in his throat that wouldn't let him speak clearly; and, the more he saw his partner's incredulity being replaced with sheer happiness, the tighter his throat felt.

Yuugi's hand shook against his jaw. Atem wanted to reach out and wipe the tears that wet Yuugi's cheeks but, before he could move, his hikari's arms were around him, pulling him into a hug so tight that his breath was knocked out of his lungs.

"Atem", Yuugi breathed in his ear, clutching at him like his life depended on it. Atem hugged him back, wrapping his arms around his shaking figure.

Yuugi hid his face in the crook of his yami's shoulder, sobbing hard and whispering incoherent words through his tears. Atem did not have to make out what his hikari was saying to understand him, but he was too overwhelmed to form words himself. Instead of saying something, he placed his hand on Yuugi's head, pulling him more securely in his embrace. After all, for them words had always been obsolete.

The yami's form melted against that of his hikari, their bodies locked in an embrace so tight it was hard to tell where the one ended and where the other begun. For a few blessed, otherworldly seconds, Atem felt like they were one and his soul shuddered at being whole again.

A few minutes earlier he had been gasping for air under the freezing rain, without a clue of how he had ended up in that place and with a feeling that his presence there was very, _very_ wrong. His last memory was that of the gate opening after his duel with Yuugi; he could even recall catching glimpses of his family as he stepped into the blinding light. He had left this world for the afterlife, yet he had opened his eyes on a street he did not recognize, cold, naked, and in pain.

All of this had vanished when he saw Yuugi. Despite his partner being his most recent recollection, he felt like eons had passed since the last time he saw him. It was just like the time he had been roused from his three-thousand-year sleep in the Millennium Puzzle: he had felt the passage of time, even though he had no memories to show for it.

He did not know how many years had passed this time around, but he guessed they had been more than a few. He had noticed changes in Yuugi, even if he had been too overwhelmed to pay any real attention to them. Even as he buried his face in his other half's hair, he vaguely noted the absence of his trademark spikes and bangs.

Even though the warmth of Yuugi's body was bliss in the middle of the cold, rainy night, Atem tried to disentangle himself from his hikari in order to take a more proper look at him. Yuugi reluctantly let go and sat back, wiping his eyes as he took one sharp, watery inhale after the other. His eyes were red and still flooding with tears, but he was smiling so widely Atem couldn't help but smile back.

His partner looked different. It was not just the hair - which was just black, with no blond streaks or bangs, and pulled back into a neat ponytail - it was his face, too. Even through the redness and the general puffiness, Atem could discern the deeper-colored bags under Yuugi's eyes. His hikari's once juvenile face had harsher lines now, with more determined angles and less curves. He was obviously older; still, at that moment he was radiating with such happiness that Atem could see the familiar traces of his teenage partner behind the adult features.

Even though they were not hugging anymore, they had not taken their hands off each other. Atem kept his on Yuugi's shoulders, holding on to him since he was the first stable thing in a reality that had spun out of control, and Yuugi clutched at the pharaoh's arms, undoubtedly determined to not let go lest he disappeared.

"How?" Yuugi managed to ask, his voice thick with emotion.

Atem shook his head. The lack of an explanation did not seem to bother Yuugi; his smile did not fade in the slightest. He seemed to be on the verge of pulling Atem into another hug, but he didn't. Instead, he simply stared at him, drinking in the sight of him with a look of marvel on his face.

His hands left Atem's arms to travel along the rest of his body, gently prodding his shoulders, his chest, the top of his stomach, and finally coming to rest back on Atem's face. The yami could read the unspoken question in the wonder of Yuugi's face, but he still had no answers to give, no explanation as to how he was in a body of his own, completely separated by his partner. He had also been befuddled when he found out he had a physical form but no shared conscience. He estimated he had spent five minutes lying under the rain, searching for Yuugi in his head until he had to accept that he was alone in his body.

Yuugi's fingers were burning against his cold skin and he sighed in contentment when they cupped his face, his breath forming a tremulous stream of fog.

For the first time since he had opened his eyes in Atem's presence, Yuugi's brow furrowed with concern.

"Oh my gosh, Atem, you're freezing", he breathed, as if only just realizing that his yami was totally naked. He stood to take off his own coat and threw it over the pharaoh's shoulders. The garment was warm from Yuugi's body heat and, as Atem wrapped it around him, his other half's scent encircled him; he felt as if he was being hugged again.

He looked up at Yuugi, feeling the warmth seep until some spot deep into his chest.

"Thank you, aibou", he said in a low, weak voice.

"Don't be silly", Yuugi laughed, they joy returning to his eyes. "Can you stand?" he asked then, placing a helping hand on Atem's arm without really waiting for an answer.

"I think so", Atem murmured as he tried to climb to his feet.

"Let's get you upstairs or you'll freeze to death", Yuugi said, retrieving his briefcase and keys from the ground.

"Upstairs?" Atem mused. He looked at the entrance door and the building overhead. It rang no bells. This was not the Kame Game Shop.

"Yes. This is where I live", Yuugi replied to the pharaoh's inquiring look and hurried back to his side. He stretched out a supporting hand - Atem's legs were still obviously unstable - but the pharaoh did not move.

"Yuugi..." he said, his heart beating hard as a sudden anxiousness clawed at his insides, "what year is this?" Yuugi's look darkened considerably. "How much time has passed?" Atem pressed on.

His other half let out an exhale and placed his hand on the coat, over the spot where Atem's hand was. He was not looking at the pharaoh anymore. His gaze was downcast and, with his bubbly joy gone, the circles under his eyes looked even darker. "It's..." he murmured, then cleared his throat uncomfortably. "It's 2010. Soon to be 2011. You've been gone- I mean, it's been... Eleven years since..." He trailed off, his grip tightening momentarily on the thick folds of fabric that covered Atem's hand.

Atem felt as if his stomach was free-falling. Eleven years should not seem a lot; not to him, who had spent 3000 years trapped in the Puzzle and had experienced the shock of waking up in a world more changed than he could ever imagine. However, as he looked at Yuugi's changed features and the lines that sadness had carved on his face, he was rapidly coming to realize that, when you have left someone behind, eleven years is a long time.

"Yuugi..." he started off, even though he had no idea how to proceed.

Yuugi looked up. The smile had returned to his lips, even if not as wide as before. As he took in Atem's face once more, whatever shadow had darkened his eyes was lifted, letting them sparkle with happiness.

"Come on, let's go upstairs! I think we both need some tea and dry clothes".

Thankfully, Yuugi's building had an elevator, because Atem did not feel confident enough on his legs to climb to the seventh - and topmost - floor. When Yuugi turned the key in the lock, they were greeted with darkness, but it only took a few seconds and a flick of the light switch to leave Atem open-mouthed, despite his already high levels of amazement.

Yuugi's apartment spread on the entirety of the top floor, but the huge-airy space was not what had made Atem's jaw drop. It was the glass walls that seemed to circle the apartment, offering a stunning, unobstructed view of Domino with its myriad lights wavering under the heavy rain. A thunder flashed, illuminating the shapes of buildings with its harsh, silver light, making the countless austere rectangles look ethereal in the night.

This was so different from Yuugi's humble little bedroom over Kame Game Shop. Everything in the apartment looked expensive - in the polished, straight-lined way that characterized luxury in this age, full of reflective surfaces and flat colors. Atem had seen more than his share of luxury back in his time, but the cleanliness and neat lines of it all made him feel out of place. He expected something cozier of Yuugi, not a place someone like Kaiba would own.

"Make yourself at home", Yuugi said, closing the door behind them and startling Atem out of his wonder.

Then he stood at the hallway, looking at the pharaoh like he still had trouble believing he was there. He took in a long, happy inhale and said brightly, "Alright, I'm going to get you some warm clothes".

He took off his shoes and disappeared down a corridor, leaving Atem to drip mud and rainwater in the entrance hall floor. He did not move, even though his legs felt weak and he really wanted to sit down, until Yuugi came back with an armful of clothes and a smile still plastered on his face.

"Would you like a warm bath?" he asked him as he approached.

Atem shook his head. "I'm not certain I... have the energy for a bath", he replied, feeling his legs shake.

Yuugi noticed, too, and immediately slung an arm around his shoulders, guiding him further in the apartment and saying, "Why are you standing there? Come on, you need to sit down..."

"I didn't want to ruin your carpet, aibou", Atem said truthfully.

"Don't be ridiculous, _other me_ ", Yuugi said with such affection that Atem felt a little more warmth expand from his chest to the rest of his body. "Here, sit..."

He pushed him into a plush leather sofa and left the pile of clothes next to him. Then Yuugi knelt in front of him, his huge eyes trained on his face with awe, adoration and a little bit of the sadness Atem had spotted previously.

"How do you feel?" Yuugi whispered, emotion constricting his throat once more.

Atem had to think about it. He felt weak and a little light-headed, but the stinging in his lungs had abated and he had no more trouble breathing. His body felt numb, but he supposed that was to be expected.

"I am fine, aibou. Just tired. And a little bit cold". He was, after all, still naked under the cover of Yuugi's coat.

"Oh, of course!" Yuugi exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "I'll make us some tea, and... Do you need help with these?" he asked, looking at the pile of clothes.

"I think I'll manage", Atem replied with a gentle smile.

"Right", Yuugi said. He remained there, staring at the clothes and rolling his weight from the heel to the ball of his feet. "Right", he repeated. "Tea".

And he left. Atem heard the soft pattering of his sock-clad feet somewhere behind him, along with the sound of cupboards opening and closing and objects being placed on hard surface.

He let his hikari at it and turned to the pile of folded clothes. He took the topmost one: a soft, grey sweater with the embroidered picture of something strongly resembling Ammut on the chest. There was also a pair of simple, black pants, socks and a pair of boxers - in short, items much more discreet than what he used to find in teenager Yuugi's wardrobe. No leather pants nor extravagant chokers. Apparently, these were gone along with the spiky hair and the huge, ancient Egyptian accessories.

However, he couldn't help but smile fondly when he picked up the pair of pants and looked at the garment folded underneath. It was a simple tank top that must have once been black, though it now lay grey and threadbare. Countless washings had worn the fabric but, as Atem put it on, he felt it was a garment more regal than any king had ever worn.

He swallowed the thickness in his throat as he pulled the sweater over the old top and straightened it. Once he was fully dressed he stood up and turned to Yuugi; his other half was casting furtive glances towards him as he filled a kettle with water, a small smile playing on his lips and disbelief still etched on his features.

Atem walked over to the kitchen with unsure, unsteady steps. Yuugi flashed him a smile as he approached. "It's a good thing we don't have to worry over clothes' sizes", he joked as he looked him from head to foot.

Atem let out a tired chuckle and leaned against the counter, watching Yuugi as he flipped the kettle switch on and moved about in the kitchen, laying biscuits on a plate with trembling hands. He could see that his hikari was exhausted, too, even if he seemed to be overflowing with energy. A bit of the light in his eyes had dulled, making the tired lines of his face stand out more. Despite the smile that never left his lips, there was a crease in his brow of some concern that wouldn't leave him, though it seemed to ease a bit every time he glanced at the pharaoh.

Yuugi jumped when the kettle made a clicking sound. He grabbed it and poured boiling water in two mugs, saying, "Atem, do you want...? I mean, sugar or...? Or...? Oh, _god_ ", he ended up moaning, setting the kettle down and hiding his face in his hands.

Atem heard him take deep, ragged breaths through his fingers.

He rushed to his side and placed a hand around his shoulders, muttering softly, "Aibou? What's wrong?"

Yuugi shook his head without revealing his face. "It's... It's..." he begun, voice stifled by his palms. When he finally lowered his hands, he looked at Atem with red-rimmed and almost imploring eyes. "It's all so crazy", he exhaled. "You... Being here, with a body... After all this time... I thought I'd never see you again and... I'm asking if you want sugar in your tea, I'm... I don't know what - _god_ \- I..." he stammered before letting a dry sob and dropping his head back into his hands.

Atem looked down at him, feeling his body tremble under his arm. He couldn't think of what to say; the tightness in his throat had returned.

"I am happy, Atem, I really am", Yuugi moaned through his fingers.

It was the sadness with with this statement was tinged that made Atem feel like something heavy settled in his chest. He tried to look past the fingers covering Yuugi's face while squeezing his hikari's shaking shoulders.

"Yuugi", he uttered his name like a caress, "what is wrong?"

Yuugi let out another sob and threw himself on Atem, hugging him again and somehow managing to hide his face in his shoulder even though they had the same height.

"You've been gone for so long", he wailed against his shoulder. "You've been... I've missed you so much". His grip on him turned painful.

Atem stroked his other half's hair. "I am sorry", he whispered; it was all he could manage.

"Don't!" Yuugi breathed. "No, you had to go on, I was happy for you, I am, I-" He took a deep breath. "It's just that... Things have changed so much while you're gone. Things are... Things have been... It's hard, you know?"

Atem realized that, despite his obvious distress and heaving body, Yuugi was not crying. Indeed, when he pulled himself away, his eyes were dry, even though all happiness had given its place to melancholy. It wasn't grief; it was something more subtle, something that settles bit by bit over the years, accumulating around the eyes and between the brows.

"I... I..." Yuugi stammered again. He let out an awkward chuckle and glanced at the mugs. "I should really make that tea. We have a lot of catching up to do".

Five minutes later they were both sitting on the couch, each clasping a steaming mug and Atem having a blanket thrown like a cape around his shoulders. Yuugi blew at the contents of his mug, eyeing the pharaoh through the steam.

"So..." he started off. "You have no idea how... _this_ happened?"

"No, nothing", Atem admitted gravely. "The last thing I remember was the gate opening after our duel".

He watched Yuugi's brows scrunch up in a pained expression at the mention of the Ceremonial Duel. "No other memories?"

Atem shook his head. "Next thing I knew, I was lying on the street, under the rain".

"You just... materialized there? Out of thin air?" Yuugi asked in bewilderment.

"It seems so".

Yuugi stared at him for a few minutes, probably trying to figure out some explanation by himself. After a while he gave up and asked, "What happened exactly? I mean", he added hastily, " _if_ you want to tell me. I don't want to pressure you if you feel-"

"Aibou", Atem said reassuringly, effectively stopping Yuugi's anxious rant, "you can ask me anything you want".

Yuugi gave him a small, thankful smile that made Atem feel like his connection with his other half was something alive and buzzing. He sat up straighter in the cushions and tried to hark back to the exact minute of his awakening.

"I can't remember anything before opening my eyes. It was like waking up from deep sleep", he said slowly, picturing the moment in his head. "At first, it was very hard to breathe. It was like my body didn't want to cooperate. Then I calmed down a bit and everything became clearer. That's when I saw you".

Yuugi gasped. "Me? Where? I didn't see you!"

"You were walking down the street towards me. I... I didn't recognize you at first", he said in a low voice, feeling slightly embarrassed, "but I did when you walked past me".

Yuugi's mouth kept opening and closing as he searched for the right question. "How... How did I not...?"

"You looked deeply troubled", Atem said, his voice rumbling low in solemnity as he cast Yuugi a knowing look.

Under the pharaoh's concerned scrutiny, he shifted uncomfortably, looking like he knew he had some answers to give even before a question was uttered out loud.

The question came nonetheless. "Aibou... What is wrong? What has happened while I was gone? Things are..." Atem indicated the apartment around them with a weak swipe of his hand before returning his gaze to his hikari's tired face. "Things are different", he concluded, voice pleading for answers.

"Okay", Yuugi sighed. "Okay. The basics first. I, umm..." He lifted his left hand to the level of Atem's eyes; he saw a golden band around his ring finger.

Atem felt his eyes go wide. "Married?" he asked, wondering how he did not see the ring earlier. When Yuugi nodded, he ventured a guess. "To Anzu?"

A melancholic smile that held no joy spread across his hikari's lips. "For the past five years".

"Congr-"

"And we're getting a divorce", Yuugi cut across him, leaving Atem open-mouthed. "Yeah..." he admitted sadly. Then he stayed silent for a while, looking lost in his thoughts, before adding, "At least, I think we are".

"What?"

"I saw her this evening and she said some things that I, umm... I'll have to think about". He sighed for what felt the hundredth time and pinched the top of his nose with his fingers, closing his eyes and letting fatigue wash over his face. "Okay, one thing at a time", he said when he opened them again. "I work at a gaming company, I design-"

"No, wait", Atem said. "Don't change the subject. What happened with Anzu?"

"It... didn't work out", Yuugi shrugged. Atem noticed that he was avoiding his gaze as he said that.

"You can tell me the truth, Y-"

"I don't wanna talk about it", Yuugi snapped with uncharacteristic coldness.

Atem frowned, unnerved with the fact that this coldness seemed to be directed at his person.

However, Yuugi regretted it quickly, for he said in a much softer voice, "I am sorry, I just... I really don't want to talk about it now".

"Alright", Atem murmured and took a sip from his mug to cover his unease over this version of his other half.

The silence that fell between them was awkward and tense; not the kind of silence that had a place in such a reunion. Atem felt it and tried to ease his hikari back into speaking.

"So... Gaming company?"

"Oh- oh, yes!" Yuugi blurted out, evidently grateful for the change of subject.

He started talking about his job, explaining to Atem what he did for a living and finding a bit of his enthusiasm back now that Anzu was left out of the conversation. Atem wanted to ask more about it because he felt that this was the issue - or rather, one of the issues - that troubled Yuugi the most. He wanted to know what had happened to make his other half this sad, fierce protectiveness surging through him at the thought that Yuugi had been hurt while he was gone. Still, he decided to let the matter of his marriage go for now and laid back, listening.

He enjoyed the vivid and excited gestures his lighter half was making, even though he could not follow half the things he was saying. He had missed his partner, even if the last eleven years were but a blink of an eye for him. Nevertheless, he could not shake off his unrest about the profound sadness that was embedded in his hikari's features, the one that no amount of excitement could conceal. He was not the Yuugi he remembered; he was a Yuugi that had been through a lot, alone. He was a Yuugi that resembled the rest of the unhappy, tired, anxious people of this era. His hikari, who had always stood out for his generosity, amicability, his pure spirit, his light - darkened.

"Atem?"

"Hmm?" he was startled out of his musings to realize that he had heard nothing of the things Yuugi had been saying for the past minutes.

"Are you okay? You look funny", Yuugi asked him, clearly worried.

"Yes, I... I'm trying to process all the changes", he replied with as a reassuring smile as he could manage.

"I'm talking too much, I'm sorry", Yuugi mumbled, frustrated with himself.

"Do not apologize, aibou. I want to hear more about your life".

"Not about my job, though. I got carried away. So, you ask me". His hikari sat up with an excited smile that was trying hard to give some spark back to his tired eyes. "What do you want to know?"

Atem didn't know where to begin. The matter of Anzu was too raw, so it would be best to leave that for another conversation, once emotions would not run so high and Yuugi would be less likely to snap again. He could not possibly know what other subject would be sensitive, so he went for the safest bet.

"What happened to the Game Shop?"

"Oh, it's still there, as you know it. Only, Mom and Dad run it these days".

"What about Grandpa?"

Yuugi's smile wavered and disappeared.

 _Shit._

"He... You know, he got very sick six or seven years ago, and he..." Yuugi trailed off, eyes fixed on his mug.

"I am so sorry", Atem said quietly.

Yuugi waved a hand way too nonchalantly to actually mean it. "You know, you might have stumbled into him in the afterlife and not remember it".

Atem did not laugh at this feeble attempt at a joke. He had also spent years living with Sugoroku and had grown very fond of the old man, so the hitch of pain in his chest was not entirely unexpected.

"What I mean is..." Yuugi went on, in a more serious tone this time, "I'm sure he is fine there. I know he is somewhere... nice".

Atem nodded. "I am sure he is".

He wanted to move closer and hug his hikari to comfort the wetness of his eyes away, but he didn't move. He wasn't really sure what he was and what he wasn't entitled to do. He might feel like not a day had passed since the last time they had been together, but his partner was no longer his teen-aged protégé. He was a grown up man, as everything on him constantly reminded him.

"Okay", Yuugi cleared his throat and forced a smile back on his face, "let me tell you about Jounouchi, you won't believe-"

He was interrupted by a shrill sound that made them both jump. Atem looked around expecting to meet some kind of threat, but Yuugi set his mug down at the coffee table and got to his feet.

"It's my phone", he explained as he darted to where he had left his coat. He fished the ringing device out of a pocket and tapped the screen before bringing it to his ear.

"Hello, Yuugi Mutou sp- _Ryou?_ " he exclaimed, as a voice blared through the small device loud enough for Atem to hear it. "Ryou, is that you?"

"Bakura?" Atem wondered aloud, setting down his mug too and looking intently at Yuugi's reactions.

"Hey, hey, calm down", Yuugi was saying. "Calm down, I can't-" Then his eyes went very wide. "Oh. Oh, I see. Yes. Yes... I know, Ryou, I know. Yes, Atem is here, too", he said, looking at the pharaoh as he eyes teared up with joy again. "Yeah, he-" he coughed the emotion out of his voice, "I don't know, he just appeared on the- Ryou, please, slow down and tell me what- Oh. Aha. Aha- look, deep breaths, please Ryou, breathe".

Even though Atem could only hear Yuugi's side of the conversation, it was not hard to deduce what was going on. The Spirit of the Millennium Ring had returned, too. His arch-nemesis was back in Domino and, clearly, had already met his former host.

He stood up and made to approach Yuugi, but he held out a hand to him, gesturing him to wait, his focus on the voice issuing from the earpiece.

"You talked to him?" Yuugi asked, his voice taking a worried edge. He sighed deeply and covered his eyes with his free hand. "How are you?" he asked then, very quietly, almost intimately.

The reply that came from the other end of the line was so loud that Yuugi had to hold the phone several inches away from his ear.

"What- What- Hey, Ryou! Stop shouting!" Yuugi yelled back, trying to be heard over the ceaseless stream of muffled shouting. He breathed hard into the receiver before asking, "Did he hurt you?"

More muffled shouting. Yuugi rolled his eyes and said, "Okay, okay, where is he now? Hey, calm down, don't- Yeah... What did he-?" he asked with indignation, eyes widening. "Did you call the police? Oh, the- I see, yeah. Listen, Ryou- no, _listen_ ", he hissed imperatively. "Keep the door locked and stay inside, okay? And... Yes, Atem is here with me. Yes, it's..." He shifted his weight from foot to foot in apparent discomfort. "Yes, look. Have you tried contacting Malik? Oh right, I forgot... Okay, look", he closed his eyes, looking like he took some kind of unpleasant decision. "Stay inside and if things get weird, I'll come over. No, I..." He made a long pause, listening to something Ryou was saying. "Are you sure?", he asked at length. "I know, but if you need me..."

There was his hikari. Not the unnerving, adult version of him, but the one Atem had known for years: always worrying about others even when he was in a pinch himself, always ready to help and comfort those that he cared about.

Affection blossomed in Atem's chest as he watched Yuugi sigh and say, "Are you sure about this Ryou? You can come over if you w- Okay... Okay, here's what we'll do. You'll stay in, lock every door and stay safe until morning, okay? Then someone will pick you up and bring you here and we'll discuss this together. Yeah... Yes, I'll text everybody. I don't know, I'll call in sick. Yeah, yeah, Ryou, listen. Umm..." Yuugi withdrew a bit and lowered his voice. "Do you still have those pills the doctor gave you? ...Yes, those ones. Yes. Okay. Yes. Don't worry, everything will be fine, alright? I'll see you in the morning. Be careful. Yeah... Call me if you need me, okay? Right... Bye".

He hung up and let out a drawn-out exhale, rubbing his eyes. When he opened them, he looked at Atem, his exhaustion back full-force.

"Guess what", he said darkly.

"The Thief is back", Atem said at once.

Yuugi nodded gravely and threw his mobile on the couch before plopping himself down next to it.

"Where is he now?" Atem asked, not sitting down himself. He could feel adrenaline slowly washing away his own fatigue; he felt ready to take action without hesitation.

Contrary to him, Yuugi seemed ready to fall apart from exhaustion. He rubbed his eyes again as he said, "Ryou doesn't know. He was under his building, but he's not there anymore".

"He let him go?" Atem asked incredulously.

Yuugi shot him a stern look that would have never appeared on his teenage face yet, somehow, fitted perfectly with the features of his adult self. "What would you have him do? Invite him upstairs for tea? They're not _us_ , Atem".

"He should have kept an eye on him", his yami insisted.

"You can't ask something like that of Ryou! The Spirit is dangerous, you know that. And Ryou is..." Yuugi's sight got lost, focusing on nothing in particular. For a minute he appeared to look at something very far away, and then murmured, "He should stay away from him. It's better this way".

"Alright", Atem backed down, if only because he agreed that there was not much that Ryou Bakura could do. He remembered the boy; he was sweet and kind, albeit weak and frail. Of course, he would be a man now, too, but still there was not much a person like that could do against the King of Thieves.

They would have to take matters into their own hands.

Yuugi pressed his palms to his eyes and groaned to the ceiling, "How did things become so... _Urgh!_ "

Atem walked past him and stood before the glass wall. He looked outside, at the city that spread before him, its million colored lights blinking at him. Somewhere in those streets the Thief was prowling, perhaps already wreaking havoc...

"I have to organize a meeting", Yuugi announced at his back.

Atem turned around to face him. "You think it's wise to wait until morning?"

"We'll have to. There's nothing else we can do, we can't track down the Spirit now".

"We could tr-"

"No, Atem, we couldn't", Yuugi cut across him harshly. "It's late, it's cold, it's raining, and Domino is bigger than you remember. You need rest and, frankly, so do I. And, judging by the state you're in, I don't think Bakur- I mean, the Thief, will have the energy for mischief tonight".

Atem was ready to argue further, so Yuugi stood up and placed his hands on his shoulders, looking at him with serious eyes.

"I don't think there's much he can do, _other me_. Shadow magic is gone. The Millennium Items are in a museum in Cairo, well protected and completely powerless".

"How do you know?"

"Malik", Yuugi said, as if this answered everything.

"Malik Ishtar?"

"Yes", Yuugi said tiredly. He gave a gentle pat at Atem's shoulder and went back to the couch. He picked up his phone and started texting furiously.

Atem recognized a lost battle when he saw one, so he did not press on. What little bit of adrenaline had invigorated him was fading away quickly, leaving him completely spent. Yuugi was right, they both needed rest - and if the Thief felt anything like he did, then they did not have to worry this night.

"The rest of the gang will be thrilled to see you", Yuugi said softly, fingers flying over the tiny keypad of his phone. The screen was illuminating his face in a weird way, but the smile he gave Atem looked overtly sweet despite of that.

"I'll be glad to see them, too", Atem hummed, returning the smile.

However, when he turned his back again on his partner, his smile faded. He looked at his reflection on the glass, taking notice at his own appearance for the first time that night. His hikari's hair might be black and straight now, but his own had their usual, wildly-spiked shape with the blond streaks. He pushed a golden tuft away from his eyes, while he could not help but wonder if this - if _he_ \- was the only thing remaining unchanged. Once more, he had opened his eyes to find that more than a few things were not the way he expected.

Of course, last time the change had worked out for the best, so...

He sighed, his breath fogging the cold glass that separated him from the rest of Domino. Rain was still pouring relentlessly over the maze of buildings and streets, making the city look strangely vacant.

One thing he was sure of: he had chosen quite a bleak day for his return.

* * *

Malik Ishtar was leaving that night's set, mumbling curses under his breath in Arabic. The shooting had took longer than he anticipated and he was beyond exhausted - not to mention hungry. He zipped up his leather jacket and pulled his mobile phone out his pocket, yawning widely as he glanced at the screen.

The moment the screen lit up, his yawn cut in half.

He had five missed calls from Ryou, a whapping twenty-three missed calls from Ishizu and a text from Yuugi.

"What the...?" he breathed, blinking just in case fatigue was playing tricks on his eyes.

He quickly came to the conclusion that something must have been very wrong; this number of missed calls was unusual, even by Ishizu's standards.

However, since in his dictionary _five_ missed calls from Ryou meant greater trouble than _twenty-three_ missed ones from his sister, he made up his mind fairly quickly. He was about to speed-dial Ryou's number when his phone vibrated from an incoming call.

The screen read _Ishizu_ and Malik groaned.

"Hey, sis, what's up? I was just about to-"

" _Malik_ ", his sister's voice reached him, more anxious and strained than he had heard it in years. " _I have bad news_ ".

.

.

.

 _This chapter. Boy, this chapter. I think I wrote my hand into another tendinitis._

 _I know it's huge but, once started, it was hard to stop. Writing about Yuugi and Atem is so easy, and just feels so natural. I really enjoy writing about these two._

 _You can't believe how excited I am about Yuugi's apartment. It's stupid, but I was writing about it and was like "whoa, Mr Mutou". Plus, I had so much fun thinking about Abridged Atem's reaction - something along the lines of saying smugly: "Finally, an apartment worthy of a king such as I! No more smelly teenager beds!" XD_

 _How about a review to let me know what you think? *bats eyelashes*_


	4. The homeless king

**Chapter 4: The homeless king**

Bakura was hurrying across unknown streets, his bare feet splashing through puddles of cold rainwater. Both his hands were gripping at the towel he had wrapped around his bony hips, trying to keep it in place.

His host - well, _former_ host - had thankfully dropped this towel at some point during their encounter, so Bakura had managed to cover himself up a bit. Still, it was less than enough. The fabric was soaked and heavy because of it, and he had to hold it in place lest it slips. It did nothing to protect him from the cold but, at least, it concealed his private parts.

Not that he attracted any less attention this way. He noticed all sorts of weird glances directed to his person, even though he tried to remain in the shadows, away from crowded streets.

He cursed through chattering teeth, his breath forming an angry stream of fog. This was all his idiot yadonushi's fault. Instead of acting like a proper host, he had left him out in the rain to freeze; and, on top of that, he had called the cops when Bakura had kept on ringing his doorbell and shouting to let him in.

Idiot yadonushi. How was he supposed to know what had happened? How was he supposed to know _why_ he was back? All he knew was that he should be in the afterlife, not in the freezing streets of Domino - and eleven years later, no less.

Eleven years. It was hard to wrap his head around that one. Sure, it was nothing compared to the three thousand years he had spent in the Millennium Ring, but this time he did not have the Ring. And, this time, he did not have a host. He had a body of his own.

That's not how this thing was supposed to work.

"Idiot yadonushi", he grumbled under his breath, readjusting the towel around his hips. He would have gladly gone back and attempted to enter his apartment by force but, apparently, his hikari had grown some balls in those last eleven years. Bakura was not fit enough for another confrontation - and he wanted to avoid the cops by all means - so he would have to find some other place to spend the night. And some other way to obtain some clothes.

He groaned in frustration and leaned against a wall. He was trembling all over and he could barely feel his feet. He was in dire need of some clothes. Anything would do, as long as it wasn't that pathetic towel. And then, once he would be less likely to attract unwanted attention, he could go and find a place to stay and, preferably, some food.

He rubbed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts.

Okay. First things first. Clothes.

He could try and rob a shop, but he did not feel that this was an ideal solution. He had no weapons, no tools, and he had no idea how much security systems had advanced. He was ready to bet that alarms would be even more annoying now; he would definitely have to do some research before attempting burglary in this age.

Next option: the clueless passer-by. Always a trusty route to take. Of course, without the Ring or even a knife, a mugging would be more challenging, but he would have to make do.

He withdrew in a shadowy corner, scanning the street for a victim. Ideally a woman, with her wallet conveniently stored in a purse. Bonus points if she wore high heels, or was old, or looked in any way unlikely to chase him down the street. He needed an easy victim since he was not up for much; he still had trouble coordinating his limbs and the cold and hunger did not help the situation.

His gaze fell on a man that walked down the road towards him, alone. Bakura squinted to take a better look at him. He was a middle-aged man, leisurely strolling despite the downpour, hidden under the safety of his umbrella. It was not the kind of victim Bakura had in mind, but the man was laden with shopping bags, most of which bore the logos of well-known clothing brands.

Bakura let a triumphant grin tug at his mouth. That was as good a prey as any; and at the moment, it was even more efficient than stealing a wallet.

He drew back in the shadows, fixing his eyes on the approaching man. He felt mildly embarrassed at the thought that he, the King of Thieves, was about to steal a couple of freaking shopping bags, but no matter. This was just a minor setback, thanks to that idiot yadonushi of his. Once he had that man's clothes - and perhaps his wallet - he could go and find a warm place to spend the night. He had not idea what he was supposed to do next, but he would figure it out... eventually.

He tied the towel as best as he could, counting the man's steps and calculating the ideal moment to reveal himself. He would have to act fast, he knew that. Threats and fighting would not cut it; he'd have to grab the bags, grab the wallet if he can, and run.

The man walked past Bakura without noticing him, with his face hidden under his umbrella. The thief gave himself enough time to draw in a deep, readying breath, and slithered out of his hiding spot.

The sound of his bare feet was covered by that of rain and of traffic from the nearby street. He ran towards his oblivious victim, blood flooding his cold muscles and pumping them back to life. He sped up, ignoring the protests of the tender flesh of his feet as it scraped against the gravel.

The rush of stealing overtook him, plunging him for a while into another time and another era. Elation and excitement widened his grin. When his fingers closed around the handles of the bags, he felt like the Thief King despite his petty loot. He grasped them and made to run without lingering to spot a wallet - he was satisfied enough with what he had managed to grab - feeling life truly surging through him for the first time since he had opened his eyes. For a couple of seconds, he felt lighter than the feather of Ma'at, holding his loot in one hand and feeling the wind under his feet.

Then his elation and triumph popped like a short-lived bubble. A violent tug threw him out of balance and he saw the world spin and tilt before his back hit the hard ground. The impact knocked the breath out of his lungs and the light out of his vision. He found himself unable to do anything besides groaning among the puddles of water; unable to react or even perceive what had happened.

Then he heard a concerned voice somewhere close to him.

"Hey man... Are you okay?"

Bakura blinked and managed to spot the man he had tried to mug standing three feet away from him. He looked calm enough, with his shopping bags and his umbrella still in his hands and his feet poised in what Bakura vaguely recognized as a fighting stance.

Adrenaline and cold panic shot through Bakura, muffling the pain and the cold and the disorientation and highlighting one single thought: he had messed up. He had to get out of there before the man called the cops.

He tried to scramble to his feet, eyes looking for the fastest possible route of escape, when his would-be victim's voice made him freeze.

"Hey... Do you need help?"

Bakura slowly turned towards the man, sufficiently taken aback to stop mid-crouch and try to figure out whether he had heard correctly. The man looked genuinely concerned, all furrowed brows and crinkled forehead.

"You don't look good, man. Do you need help?" he asked again, taking one cautious step towards Bakura very much the same way one would approach a wild animal.

The thief tensed but he did not move. Embarrassment had immobilized him. Not only his victim did not look frightened in the least, but he was offering to help him when he had just tried to mug him. Was he really so pathetic that he could induce nothing but pity?

Well, he _was_ pitiful. He was wearing nothing but a towel and had just tried to steal shopping bags.

He felt an urge to run away that had nothing to do with the fear of approaching cops.

"Hey, if you need some money, I can-"

The man was about to take out his wallet, but Bakura did not stay to hear the rest of it. He sprang to his feet and ran away as fast as he could, ignoring the man that shouted at him to wait.

Sure, he needed some help and he sure as hell needed the money, but he was the freaking Thief King. He might have just tried to steal two shopping bags, but he had not stooped so low as to accept charity.

He ran, making turns to the most deserted alleys he encountered, wanting to avoid other people more than anything. When he deemed he was far enough, he stopped and instantly doubled over, panting hard. His newborn lungs were burning again and a sharp pain in his feet told him that his skin had been scraped off from his run on the rough ground but, at the moment, he did not care. At the moment, all he felt was shame and a great deal of exasperation.

He wanted to scream his frustration to the sky, let out the pressure that was building up in his chest, but that would only attract more attention. He let his fingers slip into his wet hair and pulled at their roots until the pain made stars pop in his vision. In the end he could not hold back a desperate cry; it tore itself from his chest despite his will, harsh and feral like that of a rabid animal that had just been cornered.

All of this was wrong. All of it; not just the cold and the rain and the towel and the fact that he had been incapable to steal a bag. He should not be there in the first place. He did not ask for it. Not this time. He had made that mistake once, prompted by Zorc and an unquenchable thirst for revenge, but that was over. Zorc was gone - he did not have to probe deep into his soul to realize that. He remembered that the Pharaoh had defeated him. He remembered the darkness being ripped from his body.

It was over - it was supposed to be over. He was tired. Three thousand years were too much and had left him so, so fucking _tired_.

This was wrong. He had reached the afterlife and, even though he could not remember details, he could recall a feeling of serenity he had not experienced ever since he was a child. Before, he had almost forgotten what peace was supposed to feel like. Now that he knew, it was snatched from between his fingers.

Nothing about this mess was fair. He shouldn't be standing under the rain in a street in Domino. He wasn't supposed to, and he didn't want to.

He drove his fist into one of the walls that lined the narrow alley, wanting to vent his anger on something. Thankfully, the plaster was old and crumbled under his fist. Pain surged through him even so, but he was beyond caring. He did not want this body; he wanted nothing to do with it or this life or this god-damned city.

He let his head fall forward until his forehead hit the disintegrating wall. Slowly, he sank to his knees and remained there, with his forehead against the wall and breathing in the smell of rain, old garbage and cat piss being washed away by the downpour.

He was exhausted.

Raindrops were hitting his skin sharply. His body was shaking violently, trying to work up some warmth. He would definitely take sick after this - perhaps even earn an infection from walking bare-footed on these alleys. That is, if he decided to _stay_. At that moment, the only thing he wanted was to go back to the afterlife, to grasp again that fleeting feeling of serenity.

He could do that. He could end this. But who could guarantee that he would manage to reach the afterlife? He had been reborn - for lack of a better term. He might be denied the afterlife again. He did not know how or why he was there, and whatever had caused this might keep bringing him back. It could be worth a shot, but he did not want to end up going through the agony of being reborn again and again.

No. He had to be smart about this. First he had to work out some answers. Once he made sure that this mess would not be repeated, he could go on and rest undisturbed.

That meant he was back to point zero. He needed clothes, shelter and food. And money, if he aspired to remain in this world long enough to make some sense out of this situation.

He stood up, having earned a bit of his determination back. He looked around. He was alone in a narrow, deserted alley; no stores or doors or people could be seen.

He would not attempt to steal again that night. He did not have the energy to. He started walking, quite aimlessly, looking for anything that could be considered an adequate shelter. He ended up following the little streams of rain that rolled down the streets, carrying away garbage and flooding over overflowing gutters.

It took him a while to realize that the course of the water was leading him to the harbor. When the dark sea came into view past the buildings, Bakura frowned. The cold would be even sharper there; he'd better head back downtown. He was just about to do that when a voice made him jump.

"Psst! Hey, pal!"

He turned around and saw a small group of people huddled at the mouth of a nearby alley. Homeless, by the looks of it; wrapped in ill-fitting, dirty clothes and numerous scarves and trying to warm themselves with a small fire that burned in a tin barrel. At least, the spot where they were standing looked fairly protected by the rain.

"Are you lost?" one of them shouted at him.

Bakura hesitated. The orange glow of the fire was too tempting.

His undying Thief King pride pinched at him, reminding him that he needed no one's help nor charity of any kind. Then the desperate tremor of his muscles brought him back to his senses.

"Oh, what the hell", he murmured to himself, silencing the whining of his pride, and crossed the road to approach the group.

* * *

Morning came, brisk and humid after the night's downpour. The air above the city was clear and the last clouds were dispersing rapidly, revealing patches of blue sky. It was a beautiful morning in the eyes of those who could appreciate such a thing, but Bakura was not one of them.

He woke up curled against the wall of a deserted shop and shivering despite the blanket he had wrapped himself with. Next to him, the three men he had encountered the previous night were still fast asleep on their makeshift beds of cartons and old blankets.

Bakura climbed to a sitting position and propped his aching back against the wall. He tried to stretch a bit, to alleviate the pain of his stiff muscles, but cold crept into his limbs and he curled in on himself again. Thankfully, he was wearing clothes. The men he had met might be homeless, but between the three of them they managed to gather a few spare garments. So, at the moment, Bakura was wearing the oversized and positively stinking clothes they had given him and had wrapped himself in an equally stinking blanket. At least, they were clothes, and that was much better than a towel.

He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath, but his nose was clogged. All in all, he felt like shit. He supposed he had taken sick, after all, and it felt weird. He wasn't used to it. He couldn't remember ever being sick back in Egypt and, as for the time when he possessed Ryou's body... Well, he couldn't really feel anything back then. He felt no pain or hunger when he took control of his host's body - something that had proved infinitely convenient.

He was famished now. They might have given him clothes, but they had had no food to share. The feeling in his stomach was _painful_. Plus, it was not like he had an abundance of body fat to rely on; he was literally just skin and bones. He had come to the conclusion that, somehow, he had been reborn in a replica of Ryou's current body. He could not be sure of the way Ryou's body looked right now, but what he saw on him was not much different from his host's body from eleven years earlier. He was still lanky and too thin to be considered healthy. Moreover - and this had been his best clue so far - he had a round, silvery scar in the center of his left palm, a jagged one on his bicep and several small, bumpy ones on his abdomen. So yeah, he was ninety-nine per cent sure that this was Ryou's body.

Not that this made him any happier. He had the body of a weakling. It made him miss his solid, muscular body with the tanned skin and the scars he bore like a prize. His old body had been one worthy of a Thief King; it had been proof of his power, his determination and his fierceness. This one was... just pathetic. And, if he was to bear scars, he would much prefer to have righteously earned them.

However, in a way he was responsible for these scars, too. He was the one who had inflicted them.

He shrugged off the thought; it was not important at the moment. He had other things to think about: how to find food, money and shelter. He did not want to spend another night in the street. And he really wanted to find proper clothes. He was grateful for the ones he was wearing, but he could smell their stench even through his clogged nose.

One of the other men stirred and sat up.

"Well, good morning. Did you sleep well?" he asked Bakura with a humorless grin.

"Can't say that I did", the thief grumbled in response.

"I'd like to say that you'll get used to it... But you won't really", the man said as he rubbed his eyes.

"I'm planning to let it be a one-time thing".

"That's what we all hoped at first".

Bakura simply let out a non-committal grunt. When these guys had started asking questions the night before, he had told them that his landlord had thrown him out. It wasn't a lie, even though he didn't mean it exactly the way they thought he did.

"So... What _do_ you plan to do?"

Bakura shifted on the cardboard he had been sitting on. The first thing to do would be, of course, to obtain some money. He could try stealing again, but it had occurred to him that something more stable would not be that bad an idea.

"Do you know where a man like me can earn some money?" he asked.

"What, you mean like a job?"

"If that's what you want to call it".

"We'd all love a proper job and stuff-"

"No", Bakura interrupted, his impatience growing. "I don't mean a _proper job_. I mean lots of money - and fast".

He could have worked it out himself if he had the time and the confidence to get reacquainted with the city, but he had neither. All he wanted was to get off the street. He might have thought twice before asking for help if his pride was not already at an all-time low.

"Oh. I see", the man said, sobering up and straightening his back. "That depends. How much are you willing to do?"

"Enough to be useful to the right person".

The other man shook his head. "I can't work with that, pal".

"I can steal. I can fight", or _I'll be able to once I train this weak thing of a body_ , he thought. Then he narrowed his eyes and added, "I can kill".

"I see", the man nodded slowly. "Then perhaps you could go and have a talk with Mr Ishido".

"Who is he?"

"You'll find out once you meet him. If you're really sure about this".

'Where do I find him?" Bakura asked, throwing the blanket off him and standing up, eager to get going as soon as possible.

* * *

Three quarters of an hour later, he found himself standing in front of a building in a very questionable neighborhood. He had to cross a maze of alleys to get there; alleys which was apparent the police had never set foot on. The law had probably given up on that part of the city a long time ago.

Bakura squinted at the building in front of him, ignoring the groaning of a junkie that had collapsed a few feet further. He was certain this was the right place, but he could not help but hesitate in front of the door. Despite the fact that it was morning, above the door flashed neon pink letters that read _The Golden Egg_ in hideous cursive. He could hear a few very suggestive moans coming from the open windows above.

Still, he did not hesitate for long. After all, it was either this or the street. It would do no harm to take a look. If he didn't like this Ishido guy and what he offered, he could always leave. And, if it came to the worst... Well, he would get to see whether he would indeed return to the afterlife or not.

He took a step forward and rang the doorbell.

.

.

.

 _ **This chapter came out of nowhere. I was about to write the meeting at Yuugi's place - I really was! - when I thought about Bakura. I couldn't help but wonder, "where is he?", "what is he doing?", "is he wreaking havoc, just the way Atem expects him to?" I just had to answer these questions.**_

 ** _I know it wasn't a particularly upbeat chapter, but Bakura is at a pretty low point. And expect to see more (and worse) criminal behavior from Bakura in the future. I realize this might not make him super-likeable, but I'll make up for it... eventually._**

 ** _I don't know if any of the stuff I've included in the chapter above calls for a warning tag - tell me if you think so and I'll add some._**

 ** _So! Now that I'm done with Bakura, I can move on and write about the gang and the meeting._**

 ** _Until then... How about a review, for some extra motivation? :D_**


	5. The meeting

_**This is for my good friend John, who has his birthday today and turned... old. Like, one-fourth-of-the-century old (as he likes to remind us).  
**_ _ **Cheers, John! Here's a chapter where everybody is old(...er) - and some of them balding, just like you! XD Happy birthday!**_

* * *

 **Chapter 5: The meeting**

The first thing Atem noticed when he woke up was the bright sunlight that hit his eyes. The second was the pain in his back, as he lay in a very uncomfortable position on Yuugi's leather couch. Next to him, his hikari was still fast asleep, with his head on the armrest and his legs tucked underneath him. There was no other sound in the room apart from Yuugi's slow breathing and the light rustle of his clothes as his chest rose and fell, following that rhythm. A stray sun ray had made its way through the window and up to Yuugi's head, lending to his hair a bit of the gold that was missing.

Atem watched him for a while, feeling his heart swell at the image. At that moment, Yuugi's face looked serene and much less troubled than it had the night before. It looked a lot more like the Yuugi of eleven years ago, the Yuugi Atem had known so well. _His_ Yuugi.

He sat up slowly, so as not to disrupt his still sleeping hikari, and rubbed his stiff neck. No matter how comfortable that couch was, sleeping on it had not been a good idea. Not that they had planned to spend the night in the living room. They had really believed they wouldn't sleep at all - they had so much catching up to do that they expected to stay up talking all night long. However, they had not taken their exhaustion into account. They'd barely managed to discuss anything more beyond the Thief wandering in Domino before they started dozing off where they'd been sitting.

Atem stood up as soundlessly as possible and walked to the window. The city, still glistening from the night's downpour, was sparkling white and gold under the light of the morning sun. Clear blue framed the last remaining clouds. Τhe sky promised of a beautiful day.

He looked back to Yuugi, wondering if he ought to wake him up but, at that moment, his hikari stirred. His eyes fluttered open and a sleepy, content smile formed on his lips.

"Gmmorning, 'tem," Yuugi mumbled as he stretched.

"Good morning, aibou," Atem smiled back.

Then his hikari's head snapped up, his eyes wide and alert. He looked around madly and horror dawned on his face. "Oh no," he whimpered, looking at the blue sky outside. He shot out of the couch and dived for his phone, shouting to no one in particular, "What time is it? What time is it?" When the screen of his phone lit up, he let out a desperate wail. "It's 9:30! I'm late! Too late! I'm... Oh, _shit_! Wait here, Atem, I've got to make a phone call!"

He tapped and swiped at the screen before bringing the device to his ear. He had already started running down the corridor that led to his room when he said, "Good morning, Saito, this is Yuugi Mutou. Listen, I'm not gonna be able to make it today-" The rest of the conversation was cut off as Yuugi entered his bedroom and shut the door behind him.

Fully awakened thanks to this sudden flurry of energy, Atem stretched his new body. His joints popped, relieving a bit of the stiffness he had earned by sleeping on the couch, and he sighed in contentment. _Owning_ a body still felt weird, but at least he did not feel as exhausted as the previous night. He was hungry, though.

He considered making breakfast for his hikari and him, but Yuugi had told him to wait there - and frankly, he had no idea how to make breakfast, or what kind of breakfast his partner ate these days. He remembered with a little painful clench at his heart that Sugoroku was the one to prepare breakfast every morning, before Yuugi headed out to school. He remembered waking up to the smell of steamed rice and the sound of the old man's joyous voice. Even through Yuugi's body, he had appreciated such things; small, peaceful intermissions among the craziness of his quest.

He would have really liked to make breakfast, for old times' sake, but he decided against the risk of creating chaos in the kitchen, so he just waited. Thankfully, it did not take long for his hikari to reappear, holding his phone and smiling triumphantly.

"Okay, that's settled!" he said happily. "The guys will be here in about half an hour, so we have time for a quick breakfast. How does toast sound?"

"Sounds perfect, aibou."

They were sitting around the coffee table and still munching at their toast - with Yuugi gulping down an incredible ammount of coffee - when the intercom buzzed.

"They're here!" Yuugi exclaimed and hurried to answer the door while trying to stuff the last of his toast in his mouth.

Atem stood up, too, and wiped at his hands nervously. He did not go to wait by the door with Yuugi, as he felt he needed that moment to collect himself. Anticipation and excitement fluttered in his chest, along with an uncomfortable feeling that he identified as fear. He was excited at the prospect of seeing Yuugi's friends - no, _his friends_ \- but at the same time he was afraid to. After seeing all the unsettling changes in his hikari, he was nervous about what he was about to meet once the rest of the gang walked past this door. We wiped again at his sweating palms, trying to gulp down his anxiousness.

The doorbell rang and Yuugi opened the door. All of Atem's nervousness disappeared as a familiar voice boomed in joy, probably echoing across the whole building.

"I can't believe it! It's true! You're here!"

Then the whirlwind of noise and energy that was Katsuya Jounouchi charged towards him, dropping a motorcycle helmet somewhere along the way and laughing with pure, uncontained joy. Atem barely had time to open his hands in a welcoming gesture before Jounouchi crashed in him and clasped him in a vice-like hug.

"You're here!" Jounouchi exclaimed again before lifting Atem off the ground. The pharaoh gasped in surprise and immediately started laughing as Jounouchi started rocking him like an oversized toy. "Welcome back, buddy! Welcome back!"

"Good to see you, too, Jounouchi!" Atem said in-between his chuckles.

Jounouchi put him back down and beamed at him, patting his shoulder rather forcefully in his excitement. "How are you, Pharaoh?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Atem replied, trying to discreetly get away from his reach. "How are you?"

As he eyed Jounouchi from head to foot, he realized he didn't really need an answer. Jounouchi hadn't changed much since the last time he had seen him, but there were a few small - yet obvious - changes. Back then, his eyes used to burn with the passion of proving his worth, along with some deeply-buried pain that fueled his determination. Now the brown irises sparkled with fulfillment and happiness. His blond hair was as thick as ever, tufts falling over his forehead with a charming carelessness instead of being forced into a wannabe-cool haircut. He did not look as tired as Yuugi; not even close. His posture radiated confidence as he buried his fists in the pockets of his leather jacket and smiled widely at Atem.

"I'm fine! Things are really good lately - no, things are great!"

"I can see that," Atem chuckled. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks, buddy! So, tell me, how did this happen? When I read Yuugi's text I thought he had lost it!"

Yuugi laughed. "When I first saw him, I thought I had lost it, too!"

"I know, this is huge! I mean, he has his own body and everything!" Jounouchi shouted, poking Atem to stress the truth of his statement. "And he's back! _He's back_! Whoa, this really is huge!" He ran his fingers through his hair and fell heavily on the couch, looking utterly flabbergasted by the realization. "Okay, you've got some explaining to do. Tell me everything!"

"All in good time, Jou. Let's wait for the others to arrive first."

"Oh come on, Yuug!"

"Be patient. Honda just texted me. He picked up Ryou, they'll be here soon." He held out his phone for Jounouchi to see.

Jounouchi's eyes suddenly went wide. "Wait... does that mean that Bakura's...?"

He let his question hover, but he did not really need to finish it for Atem and Yuugi to know what he meant. They both nodded gravely and Jounouchi let out a low whistle, falling back into the sofa's cushions and staring at the opposite wall.

"What about Malik?" he asked suddenly.

"He was in Tokyo for a shooting, but he took the night train. Hopefully he'll be here in a few hours, too." When Atem cast a questioning glance at his hikari, he held out his phone again. "He texted me while we were sleeping."

"Did he see his... you know?" Jounouchi asked, voicing what was also Atem's question.

Yuugi shook his head. "I don't think so, or he would have mentioned it. He did say he has something important to tell us, though."

"Man, this is too much for one morning. I need coffee," Jounouchi sighed, rubbing his eyes. He shot back up and rushed to the kitchen to fumble with mugs and the coffee pot.

"What exactly did Malik say?" Atem asked, approaching Yuugi. His excitement had once more been replaced by anxiousness and a very uncomfortable feeling that something was wrong.

Yuugi passed him his phone and Atem read the text that was listed under the name _Malik Ishtar_.

 _Ryou called me. His yami is back, too. I just boarded the train and I'm coming back to Domino as fast as I can. I'll come straight to your place once I arrive. Tell the rest to wait until I'm there, I have some very important news to share._

Atem frowned at the little screen. "That's not very enlightening. Couldn't he say more?"

"Don't worry, he'll be here soon. It's a six-hour train ride from here to Tokyo and he sent this around 3 pm, so he should be here in about half an hour. One hour, tops."

Atem huffed as he gave the phone back to his hikari. "Do you think he knows something? He was a tomb-keeper, after all."

"Patience, _other-me,_ " Yuugi said softly.

"You guys are killing me with not saying anything!" Jounouchi groaned from the kitchen, reflecting Atem's frustration perfectly.

"You be patient too, Jou!" Yuugi shouted.

Jounouchi emerged from the kitchen, carrying a steaming mug and pouting at his friend. "I'm literally dying! Come on, just tell me-"

" _Do you still have your shoes on?_ " Yuugi screeched.

"Oops! Sorry!"

Jounouchi set his mug down on the coffee table and hurried to the entrance hall.

"It's not my fault!" he tried to justify himself as he took off his biker boots under Yuugi's glower. "I wouldn't be so distracted if you answered my-"

"You weren't distracted enough to forget about coffee!"

"Coffee is a primary need!"

Yuugi snorted just as the intercom buzzed.

"I'll get it!" Jounouchi yelled, flashing Yuugi a too-innocent smile as he pressed the intercom button to let the others in.

"Saved by the bell," Yuugi grumbled as he joined his best friend in the hall.

Atem remained behind, finding himself once more overwhelmed by this scary kind of anticipation - only, this time around, anxiousness about the news Malik would bring was added to the mix. He couldn't fathom anything more important than Malik's yami returning, but if that was the case, he would have mentioned it... wouldn't he? He didn't know Malik as well as Yuugi did, but he had known his yami. And he wasn't at all happy at the thought that they'd had to deal with both the Thief and Malik's psychopathic second persona.

He was so lost in these less-than-pleasant thoughts that he was caught completely off-guard when the door opened and a child's voice chimed happily, "Unca Jou!"

"Heeey! There's my favorite girl!" Jounouchi boomed and child's laughter filled the appartment.

Atem took a few steps towards the little group that was huddled in the threshold and felt his mouth drop in surprise. Jounouchi was holding a child in his arms, a little brown-haired girl no older than three years old. Behind her stood Hiroto Honda, laughing and looking at the kid with adoration. Then he spotted Atem and his own eyes went wide with surprise, too.

"Pharaoh!" Honda exclaimed. He crossed the threshold and reached Atem with a few strides of his long legs. "I can't believe it!" he said, crushing him in a hug.

"It's good to see you, Honda," Atem laughed.

Honda broke the hug and took a step back to take a better look at him. "Whoa, you look just like Yuugi!"

Atem nodded and took this chance to better look at Honda, too.

Honda's adult version was not surprising in the slightest. Contrary to the rest of the group, he was the one who had always looked older than he was, graced with a tall and strongly-built body since his teens. So, the differences Atem was seeing now were the expected ones: short hair balding on the top of his head and a few tired lines around his eyes - probably courtesy of the adorable little girl that was in Jounouchi's arms.

"Is this your daughter?" Atem asked, more than a little dumbstruck, and Honda nodded proudly.

"Yep! This is Miko, my little princess! Miko," he said, taking the kid from Jounouchi's arms, "say hello to Atem!"

Miko inspected him with her huge brown eyes but, instead of saying hello, she asked, "Are you unca Yuugi's brother?"

Yuugi, who was standing next to Atem, laughed and said, "No, Miko. He's a friend of mine!"

The child did not look convinced, so she kept looking at Atem with suspicion.

"Would you mind if we took this inside?" an irritated voice cut across them and everybody's attention turned to the other figure on the threshold.

Ryou Bakura was still easily recognizable thanks to his white hair, but the first thought that crossed Atem's mind when he laid his eyes on him was that he looked terrible. In the years that had passed, his body had grown taller and the angles of his face more defined, but he was unnaturally thin, his cheeks too hollow. His hair fell haphazardly over his shoulders as he stood hunched, with his hands in the pockets of an oversized jacket. His eyes looked puffy and tired, as if he had not slept at all, and his complexion had an unhealthy hue. The look on his face bordered between anger and defeat.

He noticed Atem looking at him and nodded curtly, without even attempting to crack a smile. "Hey, pharaoh."

"Hello, Bakura," Atem said, deciding against approaching him for a more intimate greeting since the look in his eyes was less than welcoming.

Yuugi walked past Atem, diving into the already crowded hall to close the door. Atem took a few steps away, to give them more space to move freely and take off their shoes, but he made sure to keep an eye on his partner and on what was being said. Yuugi approached Ryou and put his hands on his shoulders, examining his face with a frown.

"How are you?" he asked Ryou, using the same tender and concerned tone he had used last night on the phone.

Ryou took his hands out of his pockets and he tried to undo the lacing of his sneakers with fingers that shook violently. "I need some coffee," was all he said as a response.

"Ryou, man, I don't think coffee will be ideal for your nerves right now," Jounouchi said, pointing at his friend's trembling hands.

Ryou just shook his head and opened his mouth to retort, but Yuugi cut across him. "Did you get any sleep?"

"No," Ryou said, looking at Yuugi as if he couldn't believe he even considered such a thing. When Yuugi shook his head disapprovingly, Ryou said, "I had to be alert, in case _he_ tried anything funny." He spat out the pronoun with such hatred, it was not hard for Atem - or anyone else - to figure out to whom he was referring.

"Unc'e Ryou is sad," Miko informed them in a low voice.

"I'm not sad!" Ryou hissed with a lot more aggressiveness than he had to, causing Miko to cower against her father.

"Hey, don't take it out on her," Honda reprimanded him with an authoritative tone Atem could never imagine hearing in the man's voice.

Ryou huffed and a bit of the hardness in his face melted away. "I'm sorry, Miko. I'm just angry."

"Not angry at you, sweetie," Honda specified, stroking Miko's hair just as he shot Ryou a stern glance.

"No. I'm angry at... a bad guy," Ryou said, hunching back over his shoes.

"Dad can beat up all the bad guys!" Miko said cheerfully.

Jounouchi narrowed his eyes at Honda and a crooked, teasing grin appeared on his lips. "Are you still teaching her such lies?"

"You're jealous 'cause it's true," Honda said smugly, turning his back on him and strutting off towards the living room with Miko in his arms.

A soft beeping noise made Atem's attention turn back to Ryou, who took his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen. "Malik just arrived at the train station and is looking for a cab. He'll be here soon."

"Good," Yuugi said, gesturing to them to follow him to the living room.

A few minutes later they were all sitting around the coffee table, each with a mug of steaming coffee and a big plate of biscuits in the center. Atem was sitting cross-legged on the carpet next to Yuugi, looking at the group of his friends without being able to suppress a fond smile. They had been through so much together, shared so many good and bad times. He'd never imagined he'd see them this grown up. Even so, he was glad that he was given the opportunity to sit among all of them again, even if he had no idea how he had ended up there.

Of course, Anzu was missing from the picture and the gang did seem a bit incomplete without her, but no one else was questioning her absence so Atem did not either. He did not want to get a rise out of Yuugi again - not when they had obviously more pressing matters to discuss.

Honda, who was sitting on the carpet with his back on the couch and Miko on his lap, was the first to breach the subject of Atem's return. "So, pharaoh, what happened? How come you're here?"

"Wouldn't it be better if we waited for Mal-"

"Oh come on Yuugi!" Jounouchi whined for the umpteenth time that day. "Don't keep us in the dark anymore!"

"Aibou, we don't have much to explain, anyway," Atem said. Yuugi sighed and shrugged, so Atem took this as the cue to keep talking. "I have no idea how I came back, actually."

"You're kidding, right?"

It was Ryou who had spoken, sitting up straight and looking at Atem coldly.

"No," Atem said, frowning at the implication that he was lying. Then another thought crossed his mind. "You met the Thief, right?"

Ryou sank back into the cushions, brows looming low over his eyes. "Yes."

"Did he know anything?"

Now all eyes were on Ryou, who huffed in irritation and said, "When I asked him why he's back, he said he doesn't know. But he's obviously lying, isn't he?"

"I'm not so sure he's lying," Yuugi said slowly. "Atem has no explanation for it, either." He turned to the pharaoh for confirmation.

Atem nodded and said, "That's true. The last thing I remember was the gate opening to admit me in the afterlife. And then I woke up on a street in Domino, close to Yuugi's house."

"Just like that?" Honda asked, playing absently with a tuft of Miko's hair.

"Yes. I just came to under the rain, with no clue as to how and why."

"Alright," Ryou pressed on, looking at Atem, "you might not know why, but that doesn't mean _he_ doesn't. He's done it before".

"Wait," Yuugi said, lifting his hands up in an appeasing gesture. "Let's take it slow. You met the spirit of the Ring under your house, right?" Ryou nodded. "How was he?"

"What do you mean?"

"How did he look?"

"Umm... Just like me, I guess. Except for... You know... The eyes and the look on his..." Ryou's hands started shaking against his mug and his face scrunched up in a struggle to suppress some emotion.

"Okay," Yuugi said encouragingly. "And Atem came back looking just like me."

"Minus the hair," Jounouchi pointed out.

"Well, he has _my_ hair. Or rather, what my hair would look like if I didn't... dye it and stuff," Yuugi said in a low voice as Jounouchi snorted.

"Why do you-?" Atem started, but Yuugi shook his head.

"Not now, Atem."

"It's 'cause he's a businessman now," Jounouchi chuckled.

"Well... yeah. Anyway, the Thief comes back looking like Bakura and Atem comes back looking like me, instead of how he looked when we were in his memories," Yuugi summed up.

"Just like the old days," Jounouchi said; Ryou visibly shuddered.

"Yes, except that they have their own bodies now," Yuugi added.

"Did the Thief have the Millennium Ring when you saw him?" Atem asked Ryou, whose expression turned even more sour with every mention of his yami.

"No. He was completely naked. There was nothing on him."

Honda looked about to make some sort of joke, but Yuugi shot him such a stern look that made even Atem cower.

"Then how can he have caused this? He should have the Ring, shouldn't he?"

"I don't know!" Ryou shouted. "I'm sure he found a way-"

"When you asked him, what did he say?"

"He said he didn't know a thing," Ryou replied with a clipped voice. "He acted all shocked and shaken. I would have fallen for it, if I didn't know what a hypocrite he is."

The rest glanced at each other awkwardly, until Yuugi decided to voice what they were thinking. "Maybe... maybe he _was_ shocked."

"Don't be so naive, Yuugi!" Ryou hissed in a way that made the hair on the back of Atem's neck stand. It had reminded him of another voice; the voice of the one Ryou despised and yet resembled so much. The more Atem looked at him, the more uncomfortable he felt. It was hard to accept that this cold, harsh sound had come out of the once gentle Ryou Bakura. If Atem didn't know better, he might have thought it was Ryou's darker counterpart sitting on that sofa.

"And we can't just _assume_ that your yami is the one responsible for this," Yuugi stood his ground firmly.

"Wait," Jounouchi piped up, "where is he now?"

"I don't know and I don't care," Ryou growled through gritted teeth.

"You don't look like you don't care, mate," Jounouchi said quietly.

Ryou's reaction was instantaneous. He set his mug down such force that coffee flew all around, splashing on table and the carpet; Miko let out a drawn-out whimper and hid in Honda's protective hug.

"How do you want me to look?" Ryou said in a high-pitched voice. "He reappears after eleven years and acts like no time has passed, like... like I _owe him_ to take him in, like I'm his good old loyal host waiting for a parasite. He walks in," his voice grew so shrill it sounded like he was on the verge of hysterics, "and orders me around and calls me _yadonushi_ , like... like..." He let out an incomprehensible sound and let his head fall in his hands.

A tentative silence fell among the rest of the group. Ryou's tangled white tufts obscured his face, but everybody could hear his harsh, short breaths. They looked at each other uncomfortably, without really knowing what to do - except for Honda, who was trying to soothe his scared daughter. After a few awkward seconds, Jounouchi scooped up closer to Ryou and wrapped an arm around his shaking shoulders.

"I'm okay," Ryou said, raising his head and sniffling. Indeed, his whole face was red but his eyes were dry. "I'm just so fuc-"

"Language!" Honda snapped, gesturing with his head towards Miko.

"-king pissed," Ryou concluded, not showing any indication that he had heard him.

"Hey, Miko!" Yuugi said suddenly with put-on brightness. "Do you want to play with uncle Yuugi's cards? How does that sound?"

The child, who had been hiding in the lapels of Honda's jacket, turned around and cheered up when she saw Yuugi's warm smile. "Yes!" she chirped, nodding with enthusiasm. When Yuugi extended his hand, she jumped up and followed him to his room.

Once the pair left, Ryou turned to Honda, keeping his eyes downcast and not actually looking at him. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's okay," Honda said with an empathetic grimace and stretched his now free legs. "But... Tell us what happened, man."

Ryou huffed and said in a much softer tone than before, "He appeared under my house. I didn't recognize him, so I tried to help him, but then... I saw who he was and I... I ran." He seemed quite embarrassed to admit that; he was fidgeting and still didn't look any of them in the eye. "Then he knocked on my door and demanded that I let him in, and I got pissed and asked him why he's here and how he managed to come back. All he said was that he didn't know, so I told him to stay away from me and left."

"You just left him outside?" Jounouchi asked, and on his face was etched the same disbelief Atem had expressed the night before.

In the meantime, Yuugi had come back and was standing in the edge of the living room with his back on the kitchen counter, listening to the conversation from afar.

"Should I have offered to provide lodging and entertainment to him, like a good host?" Ryou snapped.

"That's not what I'm saying..."

Atem wanted to point out that it might have done no harm to have kept an eye on the Thief, but he caught his partner's glance and remained silent. Yuugi's words from the previous night passed silently between them. _They are not us, Atem._

"Anyway," Ryou went on, "after that, and since he apparently has trouble taking _no_ for an answer, he kept ringing at my doorbell and shouting - and ringing all of the doorbells in the building, for that matter. And then I called the police."

"You called the cops on him?"

"Yup. He scurried once he heard the sirens, I saw him from the window. Thankfully, he didn't show his face again after that."

"How do you know?" Honda asked.

The smile that appeared on Ryou's lips turned his face ghastly. "I kept watch all night."

Yuugi was shaking his head. "You told me you'd try to sleep," he said as he approached the group again and wiped Ryou's spilled coffee from the table.

"I couldn't possibly sleep after that!"

"Still," Yuugi said simply as he plopped down next to Atem.

"So..." Jounouchi said, sitting up and looking at them, "we have no clue how or why the yamis came back, we have no clue where Bak- the Thief is now, and we know nothing yet about Malik's yami." Yuugi nodded and Jounouchi let out a long exhale. "Well, that's great."

"We should wait for Malik. He said he has something important to tell us. Perhaps he can help," Yuugi said and stood up again. "I'm going to check on Miko."

After Yuugi left once more, silence fell between them. Ryou was sitting with his arms folded, glowering at his knees and biting at his already chapped lips. Jounouchi was staring at nothing in particular, apparently lost in thoughts, and Honda was sipping at his coffee, looking at Atem every now and then with a look of marvel on his face despite the gloomy mood that had settled over them. After a while Jounouchi sat up and smiled at Atem.

"Hey, what's the afterlife like?"

Atem chuckled. "I'm afraid I can't answer that. I don't remember."

Jounouchi's eyes went wide. "What, you can't remember anything?"

"I remember... a sort of peaceful feeling. But nothing more."

"Oh man..." Jounouchi whined and dropped back to the pillows with his hands behind his head.

However, Atem appreciated his effort to start a more light-hearted conversation, so he turned to Honda. "So, you're a family man now."

Honda smiled widely and nodded. "Yup! And Shizuka is a great wife and an amazing mother."

"Shizuka?" Atem said, looking from Honda to Jounouchi. "Jounouchi's sister?"

Honda and Jounouchi nodded simultaneously - Honda with a dreamy look on his face. "Yes, she's amazing! She is sweet and kind and beautiful and so, so hot in bed-"

"Do I really have to hear that?" Jounouchi moaned, making an act of covering his ears.

Honda sniggered. "You should be happy that I'm so in love-"

"Yeah, be in love, be my guest, but I don't need to know about your sex life!"

"For how long have you been married?" Atem asked, trying to put out the bickering before it heated up.

"Five years, more or less. We got married right after Yuugi and Anzu."

Atem's spirits dropped a bit, but he took the opportunity to lean in closer to the table and lowered his voice. "What happened with these two, anyway?"

"Hasn't Yuugi told you?" Jounouchi asked.

"He told me that they're getting a divorce."

Jounouchi shook his head. "If he hasn't told you more, then I don't think I should. It's not my place - you get it."

Atem frowned. He hated being left out of something so important, especially since it involved his partner; still, he understood Jounouchi and appreciated his loyalty to Yuugi, so he didn't press on even though it nagged him.

The intercom buzzed for the third time that morning and made everyone jump. Ryou looked up, something like hope glittering in his eyes. He hurried to the hallway and pressed the button just as Yuugi emerged from his room and ran towards him.

"Malik's here?" Yuugi asked, his excitement barely contained.

Atem could see the back of Ryou's head but not his face as he nodded. The he proceeded to open the door and wait by it, moving his weight from one foot to another in apparent impatience. Atem barely managed to get a glimpse of Malik Ishtar appearing on the doorstep before Ryou literally collapsed on him. He clutched at Malik, frantically whispering something indistinct.

Malik hugged Ryou back and stroked his white hair, murmuring, "I know, I know."

When Yuugi slipped around them and closed the door, Malik looked at him over Ryou's shoulder and gave him a faint smile. "Hey, Yuugi."

"Welcome back, Malik," Yuugi said, patting him on the shoulder. "Come on, everyone's been waiting for you."

Malik whispered something in Ryou's ear and untangled himself from his bear hug; Ryou stepped back and, for the first time that day, Atem saw him wipe his eyes. Then all three of them joined the rest in the living room, Malik smiling widely and bidding them all a good morning before he went straight to Atem and extended his hand.

"Welcome back, pharaoh."

So far, Malik was the one who seemed less changed by the passage of time. His hair had the same sandy color and the same length as before, his skin the same tanned tone, his eyes that otherworldly hue that bordered on lilac. The only notable difference was the lack of his signature kohl lines under his eyes, as well as the numerous gold accessories. Dressed as he was in jeans, a black hoodie and a leather jacket, he seemed a lot more... normal than Atem remembered him. He still stood out thanks to his hair and his caramel skin, but he did not look so out of place anymore - not as incompatible with the rest of the world as he had been.

"It's good to see you, Malik," Atem said, taking his hand and shaking it.

Malik looked around and his eyes lit up. "There's coffee? That's great! I didn't manage to get much sleep on the train."

He threw his leather jacket on the couch and darted to the kitchen to grab a mug.

"You were in Tokyo, right?" Jounouchi called at him.

"Yes!" Malik yelled back. "We are shooting for that new Tom Cruise movie."

"You are an actor?" Atem exclaimed.

Malik chuckled as he approached the group again and shook his head. "Not exactly. I'm a stuntman," he said, sitting down to the sofa next to Ryou and taking a sip from his mug.

"A what?" Atem asked with a perpelexed frown.

"I perform all of the dangerous tricks in a movie in place of the actual actors," Malik explained. Then he puffed out his chest and smiled proudly. "Of course, bikes are my specialty!"

"What new Ton Cruise movie?" Honda butted in.

"I can't tell you much, it's top secret stuff. But I've gotta be back by tomorrow or I'll lose that job. We're shooting a scene first thing Thursday morning-"

"I've heard Tom Cruise does his own stunts, so they won't need you," Jounouchi said, waving a hand airily.

"I'm not Tom Cruise's stuntman, you idiot. I'm the co-star's - Brandon Miles'."

"Yeah right," Jounouchi sneered. "Like that'd happen!"

"I know, I'm way too hot to be his stuntman," Malik said with a nonchalant shrug. "People are gonna tell the difference!"

Ryou gave Malik a slap in the back of his head, causing him to choke on his coffee and spill some down his chin.

"Hey!" Malik moaned as the rest of the group burst out laughing.

Ryou let out a few quiet giggles and a glimpse of his old self came back to the surface, only to be stifled again when he coughed himself back into sobriety. "Come on, let's focus. You have a lot to say."

"Yeah... Okay," Malik sighed, looking quite reluctant to talk now that the time had come. He looked at his - now half empty, thanks to Ryou - mug and let out a short, humorless laugh. "Where to begin...?" he murmured, apparently talking more to himself rather than his friends.

"First things first," Atem said, before his decisiveness faltered as he realized he had no idea what was the best way to phrase his question. "Did you see your... err... yami?" he asked quite hesitantly, looking closely at Malik for any sign that his question would lead to an outburst similar to Ryou's.

Malik pierced him with steady, lilac eyes, apparently noticing his hesitance and his uncertainty. "No, I did not see _Mariku_ ," he said calmly, stressing the last word enough to show that this was how he deemed appropriate to refer to his yami.

Atem started a bit at the use of that name, but he did not question it. However, he couldn't help but compare the two men that sat across from him. On the one hand, Ryou seemed to want to avoid talking about his yami even through the use of vague pronouns, whereas Malik... Malik used his own name to refer to his darker half and seemed determined to make clear that everybody should do so.

Atem deemed appropriate to nod, to show that he understood, and Malik seemed pleased by this gesture.

"I did not see him," Malik went on, "and, to be honest, I'm not even sure Mariku is back."

"But the Pharaoh is back and the Thief is back, so..." Honda said in the tone of one who tries to break some grave news to a reluctant listener.

"You forget, Honda," Yuugi said quietly, "that Mariku was not the same as Atem or Bakura." Ryou cast Yuugi a deathly stare when he heard his name being used for his yami, but the latter ignored it. "He was not a soul trapped in a Millennium Item. He was the personification of Malik's..."

"Hate and rage," the blond Egyptian said, nodding. "He was a mass of shitty feelings grown strong enough to become a separate entity."

"That still doesn't mean that he can't be back," Honda said.

"I think I'd have met him by now. The other two appeared relatively close to their other halves."

"Wait..." Yuugi said, climbing to his knees and looking at Malik with a frown. "If you didn't come to talk about Mariku... What was the important thing you had to tell us?"

The moment Yuugi voiced this realization, everybody sat up with new-found alertness. Five pairs of disconcerted eyes fixed on Malik.

Another humorless smile stretched Malik's lips, making him look excessively sad and tired. He cleared his throat and faced their stares with a solemn expression.

"The truth is, at first, I had no idea that your yamis were back. I would come here to talk to you anyway. Of course, now I see that what I want to tell you might be connected with the spirits' return."

Not even a breath could be heard when Malik paused and cleared his throat again.

"Ishizu called me last night. She wanted to tell me first, but I guess it's gonna be all over the news soon. They made a pretty unique discovery in one of the digs back home and... I think it concerns us more than we think."

He sighed and looked them in the eye, one by one.

"How many of you have heard about the Millennium Spellbook?"

.

.

.

 _ **In case you missed that, I really like coffee.**_

 _ **And Tristan procreated! XD**_

 _ **So! The meeting! It's not over yet, it's gonna continue in the next chapter. This might seem a little like a 'filler' chapter, but I wanted to introduce everyone properly and give you an idea of what everyone's doing these days (...more or less, there's more on that).**_ _ **In the next chapter, the meeting continues and Important Things will be said. Do you smell the plot coming our way? ;)**_ _ **  
**_

 _ **As for the Malik/Mariku thing... I'm using this version of the names so as to be able to tell them apart. I would use 'Malik' and 'Marik' (which is quite common in the Yu-Gi-Oh fandom) but, with only one letter different, even I get confused sometimes... So I decided to use the more Japanese-sounding version of Marik's name for the yami. Seasoned readers might be familiar with this - to the new readers, sorry if this is too confusing.  
**_

 _ **(By the way, that Brandon Miles actor is entirely made up, as well as a Tom Cruise movie that was shot in Tokyo in 2012. Don't try to look them up, they don't exist)**_

 _ **HUGE THANK YOU's go out to everyone who has commented so far. It's great to see the Yu-Gi-Oh fandom's still spreading the love! ^_^**_

 _ **How about some feedback on this one, too? Give some love to our boys (they've got a long road ahead of them)!**_


	6. Lost & found

**Chapter 6: Lost & found**

Atem saw everyone exchange bewildered glances. It came as no surprise when he was the only one to speak.

"I have."

Malik nodded slowly, tiredly, and said, "Why don't you explain, Pharaoh? I think your description will be more accurate than mine."

He sat back and took his coffee cup in his hands, leaving the proverbial stage to Atem.

"Umm... I don't know much, actually," Atem admitted. "I hadn't even heard about it back when I was... alive. Back in Egypt, I mean. I learned about its existence from Bakura, during his shadow RPG."

"Memory World?"

"Yes. I heard Zorc speak about it through Akhenaden's mouth."

"But we were there, too," Jounouchi pointed out. "There was no mention of a book." Yuugi and Honda nodded in confirmation; Ryou just let his gaze drop and glowered at the floor.

"It was before you arrived," Atem explained. "It was even before _my_ memories started playing out. Bakura - I mean, Zorc... He recounted some of the events that happened during my father's reign, events I had never witnessed while alive."

"So you saw this book?"

"I heard them talk about it and I think I might have... caught a glimpse of it."

Atem cleared his throat to earn himself some time. He tried to dive back into his recollections of Memory World, but it wasn't an easy task. Even though it was his last big adventure before leaving for the afterlife - therefore, one of his most _'recent'_ memories - he found he had a bit trouble recalling the details. He supposed that was how anyone would feel when trying to remember something that happened eleven years ago, regardless of how fast those eleven years had passed.

Time was such a tricky thing.

Everyone's attention, even Malik's, was fixed on him, so he tried his best to put shards of recollections into a coherent order.

"If we are to trust Zorc's account, then the book in question was one of powerful dark magic, passed down by the high priests since ancient times. Nobody knew exactly when the book was written, and no one had ever managed to read it. It was written in some ancient language, or in code, perhaps... I don't know for sure, but I know that its contents had remained a mystery for decades."

"Then how did they even know _what_ it was?" Honda asked.

"There had been rumors of its great power. The Spellbook had achieved almost legendary status. You see, it was said to contain the power of the Gods themselves."

"Boy, that sounds familiar," Jounouchi chuckled, earning imperative hushes from the rest.

"We're talking about immense dark power. In fact, it was rumored that the book was written by Zorc himself," Atem said somberly. "Wars were waged for it. Everybody wanted to get their hands on it, so there came a time when our kingdom was crumbling under numerous threats. My father, the Pharaoh, had been on the verge of despair, and that was when High Priest Akhenaden finally had a breakthrough."

"He read the Spellbook?" Yuugi asked.

Atem nodded. "In its pages he found the instructions to create the most powerful objects that ever existed." He made a pause to look them all in the eye, waiting for them to understand. "You know of what I speak. You have all seen those objects."

Realization hit them all simultaneously.

"The Millennium Items!"

Jounouchi and Yuugi shouted the answer, while Honda just gaped.

Ryou lifted his head and frowned at Atem, something odd flickering in his eyes. "So the instructions for the Items were written in a book?" he asked in a cold voice. "Like some kind of twisted recipe? _'Take ninety-nine humans and boil them in pure gold, in low heat, for seven days-'_ "

"Oh come on, Ryou," Jounouchi moaned; his horrified expression mirrored that of the rest. Ryou stopped talking but kept looking at Atem with a distant anger in his eyes.

They all knew about Kul Elna. They knew about the massacre and the ritual. Atem himself had told them, after Memory World. In the month that intervened between it and the Ceremonial Duel, he had tried to recount everything as faithfully as he could. Giving them a few answers had been the least he could do to thank them after all the years they spent helping him and fighting beside him.

He remembered that day. He had talked for hours, starting from the massacre of Kul Elna and the creation of the Millennium Items-

"But you never mentioned a book," Yuugi said, apparently having followed the same train of thought. "Back when you explained everything to us, you did not mention the Spellbook."

"At the time, it had seemed a minor detail," Atem tried to justify himself. "With everything that followed, I forgot about it myself."

"Oh, of course. _'Hey, we had a freaky recipe book written by Zorc, but I'm sure that's not important,'_ " Ryou sneered.

It was Atem's turn to glare at him. "I did not withhold information on purpose. I had so much to explain, that this particular detail slipped-"

"It doesn't matter," Malik intervened calmly. "It doesn't change much, anyway. What is important is that, apparently, they found the Spellbook."

Atem almost jumped in alarm. He sat up so quickly that his knee hit the coffee table; the cups rattled and coffee flew all around.

"They found it?" he gasped, ignoring the pain in his knee. Malik just nodded.

"Is that so bad?" Jounouchi asked, looking from Atem's anguished face to Malik's solemn one.

"It is a collection of powerful dark magic," Atem said. "Magic that we know for a fact that it works. If that book falls in the wrong hands..." He trailed off and turned to Malik again. His heart was thrumming against his rib cage. "Are you _sure_ it's the Spellbook?" he asked, his voice resounding loud and sharp.

Malik seemed to regret the words he was about to say even before saying them. "I am afraid so. They are not one-hundred-per-cent sure yet, but... Ishizu is positive that it's the Millennium Spellbook."

"How did they... How?" Atem stammered. "I know that, when I was the pharaoh, the book wasn't around. I figured that it was either lost or destroyed."

"They found it in an excavation site near Thebes. It was hidden deep in an underground shrine. And, apparently, someone had went to great lengths to keep it safe. The place was full of traps."

"Could it be that Akhenaden hid it there? After creating the Items?" Yuugi mused.

Atem did not reply. His mind was racing back to his time as pharaoh, to his memories of sand and gold and sunburned days. He tried to remember Akhenaden - the Akhenaden of his youth, not the one Bakura had showed him in Memory World. He tried to remember his uncle.

He recalled an image: a lanky body clad in the white robes of the court sorcerer, a small pointy beard, piercing eyes. Too piercing. One regular and one of gold. With this image came the memory of his voice, his character, his mannerisms. His uncle had always been secretive and taciturn, but to have kept the book for himself, to have created a hiding place for the book without the knowledge of the pharaoh...?

Atem's heart sank.

Of course. They were talking about the man who created the Items without the pharaoh ever knowing what actually went into making them. The man who kept so many secrets that, when the inevitable revelations came, pharaoh Akhenamkhanen's heart could not take it. A man who had always had his own agenda, his own reasons and hidden motives. Of course he could have kept the book for himself without anyone ever knowing.

"...Other-me?" Yuugi murmured, gently shaking him. Atem returned to the present to find his partner looking at him with eyes wide in concern. A few black tufts had escaped his hairband, messing up the look of his neat ponytail.

He placed a reassuring hand on Yuugi's, but the frown did not leave his face. He shook his head. "This is not good," he said in a grave voice.

Ryou sat up straight and asked with voice quivering in anger, "Is that why _he_ is back? Is _he_ after the Spellbook? And you," he snapped at Atem, "are you here to stop _him_?" He was playing the pronoun game again, but it did not take much imagination to realize he was referring to Bakura.

Atem frowned at Ryou. "I already told you, I don't know how or why I'm back," he said sharply; he might not find it so easy to be harsh towards him if Ryou did not resemble his darker half so uncannily, both in looks and in traits.

"So, you weren't sent by the Gods to make things right once more, then?" Ryou persisted with a slight sneer in his voice.

"Ryou, lay off him. He already told us he doesn't know," Yuugi said. "And you said that Bakura told you he doesn't know a thing, either."

Ryou dismissed this with a scoff and went on. "But the two have to be connected, right? The book and their return? It can't be just a coincidence."

All pairs of eyes settled on Malik, who sighed heavily.

"It is possible that the two are connected. I mean, Ryou's right: this can't be pure coincidence. On the other hand..." He sighed again and looked at them with the face of a man who is reluctant to go on. "The book was found a month ago, more or less, and the spirits only came back yesterday."

"...A month ago?" Yuugi gasped.

"Why did it take so long for Ishizu to inform you?" Jounouchi asked almost accusingly.

Malik looked exasperated. "Well, she does not inform me of everything they unearth! It's her job, you know. They discover things all the time. She doesn't call me about every piece of jewelry or ceramic pot or-"

"But it's the _Millennium Spellbook_!" Jounouchi stressed the name. "Every Millennium thingy concerns us in one way or another!"

"But they did not know what it was at first! It took them weeks of studying-"

"So Ishizu has the book?" Atem interjected.

If Malik looked reluctant before, now he looked as if he'd prefer to do anything but answer this question. "Unfortunately... No. She is not even allowed near it."

"Then who has it?" Atem asked, trying to keep his mounting panic out of his voice.

"It's still in Egypt. You see, they figured out what they had in their hands just a few days ago. Excitement went over the roof. _'The discovery of the century'_ and all that," he huffed, a look of frustration crossing his face. "They assembled a team of the best linguists, restorers and historians in the world in order to study and translate it. It's a classified and top security project. No one besides the special team has access to the book, and Ishizu is not in it."

"How can this be?" Honda exclaimed. "Ishizu is like the Egyptian government itself! There's nothing she can't have access to!"

"She is not the Egyptian government, though. She might have been able to... _exploit_ her position while having the Millennium Necklace, but without it, she has as much power as the next government employee."

"She's the _head_ of the Council of Antiquities!"

"She is the head of the Department for Public Relations," Malik corrected him, "and they don't really need her help right now."

"Isn't she, like, a master in hieroglyphs and hieratic? She grew up reading ancient texts," Ryou said in a cool voice.

"She is, but there are much better linguists than her, and they have hired them instead."

Honda shook his head. "This is absurd!"

"Yeah!" Jounouchi butted in, "Ishizu knows things the others can't even dream of!"

"But she can't reveal these things, can she?" Malik said tiredly. "The same way I can't. The same way none of us can."

Silence followed this statement, broken only by the sounds little Miko was making as she played in a nearby room. Outside, the birds' chirping was disrupted by the sound of cars and honks. The sun was high, filling the living room with ample light, but that wasn't nearly enough to brighten the look on their faces.

"Still, the book is safe, right?" Yuugi said after a while, looking at Malik with imploring eyes. "It's in the hands of the Council of Antiquities, and they are just studying it. If no one else has access to it, then this is as safe as it gets, right?"

"Even deciphering it could prove to be very dangerous," Atem said before Malik had a chance to reply.

"Yes, but it's safe there, isn't it?" Yuugi pressed on.

"Perhaps," Malik said. He lowered his gaze, seeming to be lost in thought. His lilac eyes were unfocused as he stared at the mug in his hands.

"...Perhaps?" Jounouchi repeated.

"Look," Malik said, blinking his eyes back into focus and lifting his head. "The truth is, they have never before denied Ishizu involvement with the artifacts they discover. They know she has vast knowledge and she's always been a huge help to them. So... She is really, really worried right now. She is afraid that there might be more behind the whole thing. It could be that it's just Ishizu freaking out over nothing, but..."

"If Ishizu thinks their attitude is suspicious, then it might very well be," Atem said.

"But Malik said that she's in charge of public relations, not a researcher," Honda pointed out.

"Guys, let's say there _is_ more behind this whole affair," Jounouchi said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, "...what's the big deal about someone else having the Spellbook? I mean, the Items have been in the hands of the Council for years and there's been no problem."

"The Spellbook contains numerous spells of the darkest magic - not just instructions about how to make the Millennium Items," Atem said. "And we don't even know how powerful the rest of its spells are."

"If Zorc wrote it, then... Pretty powerful, I guess," Malik said with a humorless smirk.

"Still, you are fussing over some kind of worst possible scenario," Jounouchi remarked with a look that made him seem like a teacher scolding his students. "It could be that nothing is suspicious and that nothing will happen."

"Can we take such a risk?" Yuugi asked.

Malik shook his head. "I don't think we can, that's why Ishizu is so worried. But, on a brighter note: she is trying to find a way in the team. She assured me she'll try anything and everyone she knows. She is determined to make it and, once she is in, she will be able to keep an eye both on the book and on the people around it."

"Really? You think she can make it?" Yuugi asked, his morale somewhat increased.

"She will try her best, which is good enough for me," Malik replied. A small smile curved his lips. "I know sis can be pretty persevering when she wants to."

Atem allowed himself to breathe. "Alright then," he said. "Is there anything we can do to help her? Anything."

"I don't think so. It will take connections and a lot of paperwork, so... Just leave it up to her."

"Oh man," Honda whined. "You come here and drop that bomb and then you say _'chill, don't worry, Ishizu got this'_?!"

Malik chuckled and shrugged. "Well, would you prefer it if I'd said nothing?"

"No," Yuugi said hastily. "No, it was right of you to inform us. Plus, this might help us understand why Atem is..." He trailed off and looked at Atem.

Of course. An explanation about his reappearance.

Atem was curious, too, but at the same time he was satisfied with not having a reason. Preferred it, even. He would very much like to spend a few more mornings waking up without some kind of fate or mission hanging heavy over his head. The feeling was disturbingly familiar. It dragged Atem months - no, years, it had been _years_ \- ago; back to seaside strolls in Domino, and sleepless nights, and hours and hours of gazing at the Tablet of Memories...

"Meanwhile, I think we should make sure that Ryou remains safe," Malik said.

That remark was enough for Ryou to bolt upright and glower at his friend.

"Safe from _what_?" he hissed.

"You know who I'm talking about, Ryou," Malik retained his composure with commendable patience. "Bakura is a potential threat to you, especially since we don't know why he is back."

"I don't need protection! I can handle him!" Ryou said in a tone that suggested he'd bite the tongue off anyone who'd claim otherwise.

"Malik's right," Jounouchi piped up, earning one of Ryou's murderous glowers. "I don't think it's safe for you to stay alone. At least, not until we know what Bakura's up to."

"I don't need a baby-sitter!" Ryou yelled. "And if he comes near me again, I swear I'll crack his skull open, so there's no need to-!"

"See, we can't have you going to jail over an asshole like Bakura," Jounouchi said with a small grin. "I think you qualify for a bodyguard, or at least some company. What do you say, guys?"

"What about Malik, then?" Ryou said in an effort to turn the attention of the group away from him.

"What about me?" Malik frowned.

Ryou eyed Malik with a rather stern expression. "What about _your_ yami? We still don't know whether he's around or not. If I need a bodyguard, then so do you!"

Malik shrugged.

"I'll keep an eye out for him, but I think he'd have shown himself by now. You met your yamis within five minutes from their return, tops. And I can't see Mariku intentionally refraining from meeting me... _If_ he really is back."

"I don't care," Ryou said stubbornly. "We should make sure. If he's back, then you're in more danger than I am."

Malik's shoulders slouched. "Really, I... I don't think he's back."

For the first time something in his calm facade cracked, revealing the anguish underneath. He must have realized it, for he squared his shoulders again and flashed them an undeniably dazzling smile. He pushed his hair out of his face with the charm and the nonchalance of a rock star.

"Anyway, I have to be back to Tokyo by tomorrow, and it's not like any of you can follow me there. Don't worry. I promise to keep an eye out and inform you the minute I notice something suspicious."

Ryou scoffed and tried to argue further, but Malik interrupted him with a huge yawn and a stretch of his body. He pointedly ignored Ryou's objections by discussing sleeping arrangements for the night and train schedules. It wasn't until Honda asked whether they wanted him to drop them off somewhere that Jounouchi cut them off in a low voice.

"Guys, wait... What about Anzu?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Atem saw Yuugi's posture stiffen.

"I know you won't like it, Yuug," Jounouchi went on, "but... Shouldn't she at least know what's going on?"

It was impossible to miss the change in the mood and the uncomfortable tension that filled the room. Malik suddenly decided to focus on his coffee cup and lowered his gaze; Ryou withdrew into himself and scowled at his knees, while Honda cast furtive glances from Yuugi to Jounouchi and, for some reason, Atem.

Yuugi pressed his lips in a thin line and simply stared at Jounouchi.

"I don't see how any of this concerns her," he said at long last. His voice was so devoid of emotion that it was unrecognizable.

"Come on, Yuug..." Jounouchi said quietly. "She deserves to know at least the gist of the situation. I mean... She doesn't even know Atem is back."

Yuugi shuffled in his seat, his body jerking in an awkward and mechanical way. "There's no reason to involve her in this. There is nothing she can do, after all."

"That's not what I'm saying and you know it. Atem was her friend, too. You might not like it, but it's not right to-"

"I won't talk about Anzu. Not now. If you guys want to inform her, go ahead," Yuugi snapped, whipping his head around to look at the trio on the couch; Malik, Ryou and Honda all but cowered under the look Yuugi shot them. "Just... Do it without me." Animosity seeped out of his voice at this, and he lowered his head to look at his shaking fists.

Nobody else moved. Jounouchi managed to catch Atem's eye and made an apologetic face to him, but Atem did not react. He did not know how. If there was something they expected him to say and make this situation better, they were out of luck because he really had no idea how to deal with _this_. Especially since he did not really know what he was dealing with.

Apparently, no one else knew what to do or say, until Jounouchi sighed and said in a hesitant voice, "Hey, Yuug, umm... I'm sorry for bringing it up, pal."

Yuugi shook his head. "No, no, it's okay. I'm sorry for..." He trailed off, looking rather ashamed of himself. He cleared his throat and turned to Malik, putting on as much of a cool expression as possible. "Please keep us updated on Ishizu's progress. And if there is anything we can do to help, let us know."

Malik seemed a little disconcerted from this sudden change of subject, but he just nodded and said, "I will."

The silence that followed was even more uncomfortable than the previous one. No one could come up with anything more to say, so they all focused on emptying their mugs.

Atem wondered whether it would help if he tried to initiate some small talk again, but he dismissed the idea, even if there were still many things to ask. The mood did not seem appropriate. Yuugi's shoulders were tense, even though he was managing to keep his face impassive.

Thankfully, Honda took it upon him to break the silence. "I'd better get going. Shizuka has given me a huge grocery list."

The rest grabbed this chance with gratefulness and soon they were all standing up and getting their coats. Malik helped Yuugi pick up the empty coffee mugs and take them to the kitchen while Honda went to collect Miko from whenever she was holed up.

They put on their shoes and bid them goodbye with several hugs and pats on the back for Atem.

"Man, it's good to see you again," Jounouchi said. "I'd be nice if we didn't... have to worry about dark magic again and stuff."

"Then he probably wouldn't even be here, Jou," Ryou said coldly. That killed what little of their good mood had remained, so they took off without further ado.

Once the last one of the group left and the front door closed behind them, Yuugi sighed deeply. He leaned with his back against the door and let his tense body relax. His eyes searched for Atem and locked on him.

He looked worn out to the point of crumbling. There was no spirit left in his eyes. The dark bags under them made everything worse; made his irises look lifeless. He looked at Atem, lost and despondent.

"So... The Spellbook." He shook his head and let out a humorless chuckle. "What a mess, huh?"

Atem wanted to respond, but his mind was blank once more. The conversation about Anzu was too recent, the tension still buzzing in the air. Atem stood silent and stared, and his eyes traveled across Yuugi's figure of their own accord.

His partner's image was a sum of smaller, unsettling elements. Tired eyes. Wild tufts of black hair falling in his face. A golden band glittering on his left ring finger. Tremulous corners of the mouth, unable to keep the smile they were trying to form. Traces of anger left on his cheeks. Hint of pain left in his brow.

Atem's eyes found their way to Yuugi's neck and remained there. He noticed that it stood in a quite odd angle, as if there was something heavy hanging from it. It gave the impression that he stood constantly hunched, even when his back was straight.

He hadn't picked that up before but, once he did, Atem was unable to tear his gaze away from that sight. He couldn't help but wonder whether this slouch was a defect caused by Yuugi wearing the Puzzle around his neck for years. The idea made something in him clench tightly. It made him feel responsible. Guilty.

The Puzzle was gone now, but its presence was still haunting Yuugi, probably earning him stiff back muscles and the equivalent discomfort. One more thing to add to the sum of traits that made up his ran-down image.

"Atem?"

His eyes flicked upwards to meet Yuugi's. Upon seeing these dimmed violet irises again, he could not hold back.

"Aibou," he said in deep and somber tones. He felt his own brow scrunch up in concern. "What is wrong?"

Yuugi seemed puzzled. "You mean besides what Malik just-?" He stopped talking under the look that Atem gave him.

"You know I am not talking about the book."

Yuugi's look hardened. He lowered his head; more black tufts slipped out of his hairband and fell in front of his face, obscuring it from Atem.

"You already know," he murmured.

"No, aibou, I don't! All you've given me are vague answers, and I-"

"Why do you need to know more, anyway?" Yuugi snapped. He raised his head to shoot a glower at Atem.

If his answer was intended to hurt, then it achieved just that. Still, Atem stood his ground. "Because if I don't know what is going on, how will I be able to help you? Please, Yuugi, I-"

Yuugi let out a sarcastic chuckle, and the sound was so uncharacteristic of him that Atem's plea died in his throat.

"Help me...?" he whispered. His eyes narrowed into slits. "You want to help me? Alright then... Let's see. A book of dark magic is discovered, my yami comes back from the dead, I don't know how or why any of this is happening, my marriage is failing and I have to think of what to say to Anzu while the reason that my marriage is failing is standing _right before my eyes!_ "

His voice had grown progressively louder and, by the time he uttered his last words, he was shouting.

He glared at his dumbstruck yami, panting heavily, his face flushed and glowing red. "So there you have it!" he yelled. "Think you can help with that?"

Atem stared back stupidly, trying to process what he had just heard.

 _'... standing right before his eyes'_.

He felt the blood leave his face.

 _'The reason his marriage is failing.'_

Yuugi could not really mean that - he couldn't.

Atem gulped down a dry lump of nothing and tried to talk past the numbness that had set in his tongue.

"I... What...? What do you mean, aib-?"

"Can't you see?" Yuugi kept shouting, his voice cracking and peeling as its harsh tones scraped his throat. "I was never the one she loved! The one she wanted, the one she was in love with, was you! It's always been you! Never me - _you!_ "

Atem could not breathe in. The weight that had settled in his chest prevented his lungs from expanding.

"This can't be. I... Anzu _never_ -"

"You never had a clue, right?" Yuugi chortled. He took a deep breath to calm himself and raked a hand through his hair; the already loose hairband slipped off and his hair flew freely.

The weight in Atem's chest was threatening to crush his heart.

"You... You must have made a mistake..."

Yuugi's face contorted into an expression of anger and pain and jealousy and a dozen more emotions that Atem would have never _ever_ wished to see on his partner's face.

"You wanna know what was the last thing Anzu told me before asking for a divorce? You wanna know her exact words? She said, _'you are nothing like him'_. Wanna venture a guess as to whom she was referring?"

He tried to chuckle again, but the sound was small and pitiful. When he spoke again, his voice was strangled.

"She looked at me as if I were a _piece of dirt_ , and told me that I am nothing like you before slamming a door to my face. Does that sound like a mistake to you? Like a misunderstanding?"

Atem opened his mouth to speak, but the air of the room was too thick. He was drowning in it.

Yuugi went on mercilessly, either unaware of or indifferent towards Atem's distress.

"Do you get it? She never wanted _me_. I was a substitute. The best one that she could get, but a substitute nonetheless. Perhaps she hoped that I'd grow up to be like you. But I am not _you_. I am not _like_ you. And after so many years, she finally understood it, too."

He covered his face with his hands. There was a pause for a few seconds, in which the silence was broken only by his ragged and muffled breaths. Then Yuugi's hands slipped off his face and back into his hair.

His fists curled into his wild black tufts, his knuckles turned white. He laughed and it sounded so distorted, so wrong, that Atem's blood froze.

"And now you're back!" he said in a shrill voice. He was smiling, but the expression looked desperate and pained. "You're back and, god, I've missed you so much and for so long that I can't even begin to describe how I feel! But then I look at you and remember _her_ , I remember what she said and just... I can't help feeling..."

Tears started leaking out of his eyes, leaving shimmering trails on his red cheeks. The last traces of anger were wiped from his face, leaving behind a desolate landscape of hurt and anguish.

"I know it's not your fault," he whispered. "I know you never did anything to encourage it. I know you didn't. But I can't help but look at you and feel so... _bitter_. And I hate it. I hate it. I hate it that you're back and I feel like this. I hate it that I look at you and instead of being happy, I keep hearing her words in my head. I hate it!"

Tears kept streaking down his face.

"I'm sorry, Atem. I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I hate it, I do, and I'm so sorry-"

Atem covered the distance between them with two decisive strides and pulled Yuugi into a tight hug.

Yuugi's stream of apologies was muffled as he hid his face in Atem's shoulder, but he kept on whispering them. Atem tightened his grip on him because there was nothing more that he could do. No words could come out of the knot his throat had become. No more commands could come out of his pathetically numb brain.

He clutched at Yuugi, hoping that it would be enough to compensate for his astounding uselessness. Hoping that the steadiness of his hands would somehow make up for the lack of stability in his partner's body. Hoping that the gesture would say all that his voice could not.

His eyes stung, but he kept them dry. Because one of them had to. One of them had to remain steady for the other to lean on. And he would be the one to do it. For his partner. For Yuugi. He might have left him to struggle alone all these years, but he would let him do it no longer.

He placed one hand on the back of Yuugi's head, right on the odd crook of his neck. Right over the constant hunch caused by the Millennium Puzzle. And he understood why he had felt so guilty about this.

It wasn't just the weight of gold that had made Yuugi's shoulders bow.

It had been the weight of the soul that it carried - a weight that had never left him.

.

.

.

.

 _ **Whoah, you guys! Three months since the last update!**_

 _ **First off, sorry for the wait! I took a break from this fic to do some research (that is, to re-read the whole manga :P) so... Yeah, that was one of the reasons for the delay. The second reason is that**_ _ **I've had lots of things going on lately - things that have been nice and creative but also very time (and energy) consuming.**_

 _ **Your comments and your support have been amazing, though! Thank you so much for that!  
And, as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, too. ^_^**_

 _ **I promise the next chapter won't take this long!  
(and, if you see me dawdling again, feel free to remind me of my promise)**_


	7. Promises

**Chapter 7: Promises**

Honda dropped Ryou and Malik off outside Ryou's apartment block and drove away while little Miko shouted cheerful goodbyes at the top of her shrill voice. The two friends waved at her with identical wide smiles, until Honda's car took a turn at the end of the road and disappeared from view.

As if on cue, both Malik's and Ryou's smiles faded.

"Malik?"

"Hmm?"

"...Want a drink?"

"Oh, gods, _yes_."

They made their way to the main entrance in silence, keeping their hands in their pockets to protect them from the cold. As Ryou started fumbling with his keys, Malik lifted his gaze to take a look around. He glanced from the pavement to the streetlamps and the towering buildings. He couldn't help thinking that Bakura had been there just a night ago.

He still remembered him from the days of their... alliance. He remembered the way the man stood, the way he talked, the way he sneered and scoffed and laughed. It wasn't hard picturing him there, standing on the very spot that he was. It felt... surreal. Eerie.

He did not like thinking about Bakura. The guilt over Battle City would never go away—he had come to terms with that—but everything became worse when he thought of how he and Bakura had used Ryou. Ryou, whom they had stabbed and let bleed. Ryou, whose conscience they had locked away in a prison within his own mind. Ryou, who had turned out to be his best friend.

Malik shuddered and took his gaze off the street.

Bakura being back was not good news for any of them but, at least, this time he would made sure to be on the right side.

Ryou's apartment building was old, and its elevator was a tiny, crackling thing that spent most of its days out of service. It was operating properly at the moment—or as properly as it got—but Ryou ignored it and led the way up the stairs without a word. Malik followed him with a rush of thankfulness warming his chest. The climb to the fifth floor was long and winding and it always made Malik feel dizzy, but it was nothing compared to the unease the stuffy and half-lit elevator evoked in him. He had made the mistake or riding it once, and the panic attack that had followed had made him promise never to do it again.

When they reached the fifth floor, Ryou unlocked the door to his apartment—a door so frail and decrepit-looking that Malik wondered whether locking it actually made a difference.

The inside of the apartment was dark, since all of the shutters and curtains were decidedly shut. Ryou walked in first and kicked off his shoes. He threw the keys, aiming for the bowl on the nearby stand, and missed; they clanked and rattled loudly as they bounced across the tiles. He ignored them and went straight for the couch, where he collapsed face-first.

Malik closed the door quietly behind him. He picked up the keys and put them in the bowl, to spare his friend the search; he suspected that Ryou hadn't even noticed he had missed his target in the first place. He proceeded to move from window to window, opening the shutters and pulling the curtains aside to let in as much light as possible. The place was in dire need of some fresh air, so he cracked open the balcony door, too; the cold of December rushed in to fill the already chilly apartment.

Ryou did not stir at the change. He was hiding his face, so all Malik could see was tangled white hair splayed on the pillow.

The bright light of noon illuminated the mess that Ryou's apartment was. Books were piled up in the most unlikely places, papers with notes stacked on top of them. Clothes and mugs were strewn about. It seemed that this place had not seen a vacuum or a duster in quite some time—not to mention the dishes that had started piling up in the sink.

Malik shook his head. He knew Ryou had little to no time for house chores, but he also knew how much his friend valued cleanliness and neatness. The state of his apartment was proof of just how screwed his timetable was, what with working and trying to graduate. Or... It could be just a reflection of how Ryou was feeling lately. Either way, it did not make Malik particularly happy.

He sighed and approached the couch. He sat on the armrest, right next to Ryou's feet, and prodded him gently.

His friend shifted and turned around to look at him with eyes bleary from the lack of sleep. "Okay, let's see..." Ryou huffed. "I've got beer in the fridge, but if you want something stronger, there's only vodka."

Malik rolled his eyes. "Of course there's only vodka."

Ryou gave him a playful kick. Then he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

Malik's gaze followed Ryou as he closed the balcony door and walked to the small kitchen; the open plan of his apartment meant that the kitchen and the living room shared the same space, so it was easy to not lose sight of him. He saw Ryou rummage around for a while, presumably looking for glasses. He didn't miss how his hands seemed to shake. His profile was awfully pale, even by his standards.

Malik got to his feet and strode into the kitchen. He grabbed Ryou's shoulder and nodded towards the living room.

"Go sit down."

Ryou, who was in the middle of reaching for his last two clean glasses, smirked at him. "Did I offend your barman pride? I can fix a drink, too, you know."

"Nah, I don't trust you," Malik said and snatched the glasses from his hands. "Besides, you look like shit. Sit down, I don't want you collapsing."

"Sir, yes, sir," Ryou sneered, but his heart wasn't really in the tease.

A creak from the couch told him that Ryou had gone back to the living room and sat down. Malik reached for the topmost shelf, where he knew his friend kept the vodka, and was surprised to find that the half-empty bottle had gathered a fair share of dust.

He turned to Ryou and fixed his eyes on him over the kitchen counter. "You haven't been drinking for a while," he remarked.

Ryou shrugged. "Oh well... Y'know," he said vaguely.

Malik's eyes turned back to the bottle. He considered it for a while, weighing it in his hands, and then put it back where he had found it. If Ryou had started cutting back on his bad habits, he sure as hell wasn't going to encourage him back in them. He set the glasses down and grabbed two mugs instead. He scoured the cupboards until he found what he was looking for.

When he put a steaming cup in front of Ryou, the latter sniffed at it and raised an eyebrow. "Linden tea? Some barman you are."

"Shut up and drink it," Malik said, even though he was not able to hold back an endearing smile.

"If they find out about this at the Crow, they're gonna fire you," Ryou kept teasing him. Malik chuckled and sat down next to him, holding a steaming mug for himself.

Despite how much he'd love it to, Malik's stuntman job was not his only one. There weren't nearly enough productions to make a living out of it, and it wasn't as if being a stuntman was the best-paid job in the world. He could go for months without a part, so he came to realize pretty soon that he'd need a more stable job in order to have a respectable income. So, whenever he wasn't in a shooting, Malik worked as a barman in a rock bar in downtown Domino.

He knew that in America there'd be no shortage of jobs for a stuntman of his caliber, but he wasn't willing to move. He did not want to leave Domino. There was something about this place that was drawing him - enough so to make him leave Egypt and his family.

At first it had been the need for redemption. All he had wanted was to return to the scene of the crime and make amends, both with himself and the people he had hurt. In his mind, Domino had been the place of second chances, of hope, of absolution. Since then, things had changed quite a lot, and Domino had turned into something more.

He had built a life there. A real life. He had friends. A job he enjoyed. A home—an actual one, not a tomb that reeked of fear, nor the headquarters of an underground criminal organization. An actual home that he sustained himself, with the honest work of his hands. These things might seem simple—petty even—to a man with ambitions and dreams but, for someone like Malik, this was all he wanted. This was what he had craved his whole life: to be able to do a simple, petty thing, such as going out and riding his motorcycle under the open sky. Or to kick back and have some tea with his best friend, even when the circumstances were less than ideal—like now.

He sank in Ryou's couch and took a sip from his mug before he asked, "Do you have to go to work today?"

Ryou sighed tiredly. "Yup. Afternoon shift. Gotta be there in a few hours."

Malik shook his head. "You don't look like you're up to work today. Can't you call in sick?"

Ryou shot Malik a stern look. "Ιn the middle of the holiday season? No one will be able to cover for me. We are all working overtime as it is."

"Do you really care whether they find someone to cover for you or not?" Malik asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"No, but I care whether I keep my job or not. And I can't afford to lose a day's wages."

"The only thing you'll earn if you go to work like this is fainting."

"Well, there's not much that I can do about it, is there?" Ryou snapped. "I'll just stick it out until evening."

"You could take a nap," Malik suggested. When Ryou just looked indignant, he raised his voice. "You look ghastly, Ryou! Come on, just two hours of sleep. I'll stay right here until you wake up."

"I told you, I don't need a baby-sitter!" Ryou shouted.

"I beg to differ," Malik said with equal levels of stubbornness. "Have you even eaten anything?"

Ryou closed his mouth and scowled at his lap. "...No," he said at length.

Malik set his mug down and stood up. He went straight to the kitchen, ignoring Ryou's commands to sit back down and leave his fridge alone.

There was not much in the fridge, anyway. Malik poked around for a while until he had to admit defeat. He sighed and took out his phone.

"What are you doing?" Ryou asked with a suspicious frown.

"Ordering takeout."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Malik-"

"What exactly are you trying to achieve with this, huh?" it was Malik's turn to snap. "Not eating. Not sleeping. Not accepting help. What are you-?"

The rest of his sentence died in his throat. The whole scene seemed disturbingly familiar all of a sudden, like a deja-vu. He had said those words before, and Ryou had stood looking at him with the same air of irritation, defiance, and despair. Only, back then they had been much younger, barely out of their teens and with all kinds of wounds too fresh on their skin.

Malik sighed and drove a hand through his hair. He did not want them to revert to that. It had not been a good time for either of them. Hell, he was _determined_ not to let things come to that again.

Ryou kept staring at him coldly. "I'm not trying to achieve anything. I thought you knew."

"I know, and that's the worst part," Malik said quietly. He put his phone back in his pocket and approached Ryou. He sat back down next to him and sighed softly. "I don't like seeing him affect you this much already. It's barely been a day and... You're falling apart."

Upon hearing that phrase, Ryou shot him the most deadly-looking glare he could achieve.

"I don't think you'd be able to act so calmly if you'd seen Mariku from up close," he said, biting frost covering his voice.

Malik felt his face blanch at that. It wasn't because of Ryou's tone; he knew that his friend could be pretty harsh when stressed. It was because of the words themselves. The implication that he wasn't as at peace with the idea of Mariku's return as he'd like to seem.

He guessed there was some truth behind that statement.

"No, I guess I wouldn't be," he admitted in a low voice. "But I wouldn't give up and let it destroy me, either."

"I haven't given-!"

"Oh, yeah? And what do you call _this_?"

"A sensible reaction!" Ryou screeched. "At least I'm not walking around pretending that this is the most natural thing in the whole fucking world!"

"Should I freak out, too, then? Would that satisfy you?" Malik asked coldly.

Ryou opened his mouth but apparently could come up with no suitable retort. He struggled for a while and then resigned to a huff. He fixed his eyes on the untouched mug in front of him.

For a minute, the only thing that moved were the rivulets of steam that rose from the mug. Then Ryou whispered, "How can you stand it?"

"Stand what?"

"Not knowing." He turned back to Malik with anguish etched on his pale features. "Not knowing whether he's back, whether he's close... Watching you. Aren't you... afraid?"

Malik considered his question for a moment. He let his body sink into the pillows of the couch, fatigue pulling him under. He looked straight ahead and replayed every minute of the past twelve hours in his head.

"I don't know if fear is what I'm feeling," he said slowly. "I mean... Sure, there are moments of paranoia when I look over my shoulder, expecting to see him behind me, but... Fear? I don't know."

He kept looking ahead, but he could tell Ryou's eyes were fixed on him, huge and concerned. He sighed.

"You know, I... I always thought that, if Mariku ever came back, it'd be because of me. Because of something I'd done. So I tried _so_ hard not to screw up again." His palms curled into fists. "So now... To think that, after all the hard work I've put into becoming a decent person, he could still come back, is... Infuriating, actually."

Ryou remained silent at this. Malik sipped at his beverage, just to occupy himself with something and wash away a bit of the resentment he felt. Resentment was not a good emotion. Neither was anger. Not good emotions at all—and he hated that he felt both at the time. After all his hard work...

"But... Wouldn't it better that way? If his return is not... your fault?" Ryou asked in a quiet and careful voice.

Malik let out a strangled laugh.

"It's just as bad. Or even worse, because it means that he would no longer need me to... create him. It means that I would have no control whatsoever over him. And not having control sure brings back some memories, doesn't it?" he concluded bitterly.

Ryou's look softened. For the first time that day, the scowl slipped from his face.

Malik tried to smile. "Still," he said, his confidence returning, "there's been no proof of his return, so I try not to dwell on this stuff. It's no use."

The frown returned to Ryou's face, but it was mostly a look of exasperation, not irritation. "How can you _choose_ not to think about it?"

Malik shrugged. "I can't afford to freak out over something that might never happen. The world doesn't end, you know. There are things I've got to do: a scene I've got to shoot tomorrow, a book we have to find, a friend I have to protect," he nodded towards Ryou's direction with a small smile. "If I let the mere idea of Mariku hold me back, then... I'll have lost to this negativity once again. I'll have lost, whether he's back or not."

Ryou stared at him with an odd expression on his face. Slowly, all fight seeped out of him and left him looking drained.

"Damn it, Ishtar... I could learn a thing or two from you."

"Took you ten years, but you finally acknowledged it," Malik sniggered.

"Shut up," Ryou murmured and let his body tilt towards him.

At first Malik thought he was aiming for his shoulder, but Ryou let his body fall sideways until he lied with his head on Malik's lap. It was a two-seat couch, which meant that Ryou couldn't fit his body properly on it when lying down, but he accommodated himself as best as he could. He sighed deeply and curled into himself, assuming an almost fetal position, with his head resting on Malik's thighs.

Malik smiled endearingly at the head on his lap. He drove his fingers through the white tufts and brushed them with slow and soothing movements. He felt Ryou's body gradually relax and grow heavier. Soon, his breathing slowed down.

He knew that Ryou was starved for this: for a gentle touch, for something to make him feel safe. In some aspects, he believed Ryou was worse off than him. Sure, Malik himself hadn't grown up showered with parental love, but he'd always had Ishizu and Rishid by his side. Even now, even though they lived so far away, they supported each other. They were there for him, and they'd always been.

Ryou never had this. Or, more correctly, he had it once, but he lost it so young it didn't even count. He'd grown up without a mother or a sibling and a father that was away more often than not. For a long while he hadn't even been able to keep the friends he made. And, after Bakura, he became so distrustful and distant that it had taken a truly great shock for him to drop his defenses and allow someone to approach him. In many ways, Ryou was still like that. The first few years after Bakura had crystallized his current self.

Not that Malik was one to speak. Their adventures had left them both with more scars in their souls than their bodies - and, in Malik's case, that said quite a lot.

"Malik?"

Ryou's voice broke him out of his melancholic reverie.

"Hmm?"

"What will you do if Mariku _is_ back? If he has a body like... the rest?"

Malik pondered this for a few seconds. "I don't know. Perhaps... I'll stay away from him. If he has his own body, I guess that means he'll be his own person. A separate individual. So I'll stay away, 'cause I don't think I'll have anything to gain by associating with the likes of him."

Ryou chuckled weakly. "Is it really that simple for you?"

"If you see him like any other person, then... There's not more to it, really."

"Yes but... _Will_ you be able to see him like that? Like just another person?"

Malik paused. "...I don't know. But I'll try."

Ryou sighed. "I wish I could just ignore Bakura." Malik was mildly surprised to hear him actually call him that, but he did not question it, and Ryou went on. "I wish I could just pretend he's just one person that I don't like, and leave it at that. But I can't get him out of my head. I hate him so much"—his body turned rigid and tense—"I feel I'm gonna burst with the intensity of it."

He rolled on his back to be able to look at Malik.

"I don't want him to exist, Malik. I don't want him here. But now that I _know_ that he is back... It's all I can think of."

"You told him to stay away from you," Malik pointed out calmly. "I doubt that you will go looking for him. There's a big chance he'll stay out of your life, so there might not really be a difference."

"Even knowing that he's around makes a difference. It's like..." He paused, searching for the right words, until he gave up and he huffed irritably. "I don't know. It's like the world turned upside down and I'm sixteen again."

"You're not, though. And you stood up to him."

A dry smile stretched Ryou's lips. His expression was oddly vengeful. "Yeah... Yeah, I did."

"Try not to think about him," Malik said firmly, wanting to wipe that unsettling look from his friend's face. "Get some sleep. Eat. Plus, we have the Spellbook to worry about, don't we?"

"Tell you what. If there's a spell in there that reverses this rebirth thing, I'll walk all the way to Egypt to claim that book myself."

"First you'll have to take a few days off work, and I doubt they'll allow it."

Ryou groaned and rolled to his side again. "Malik Ishtar, you villain, always killing my hopes."

Malik laughed softly and resumed stroking Ryou's hair.

When too many minutes ticked away in silence, Malik glanced at Ryou's profile and realized that his friend had fallen asleep on his lap. His worn-out face had relaxed and he was breathing deeply through parted lips. Malik smiled, quite pleased with himself. Now he had to make sure Ryou stayed asleep—at least until he had to leave for work—because he knew his friend was stubborn enough to exhaust himself to the point of fainting.

He looked around at the messy apartment. He wasn't going to leave before Ryou woke up, that much was certain; in the instance Bakura did decide to show up, he didn't want to let him find his friend sleeping and defenseless. So, since he was going to stick around for a little while more, Malik guessed he could make himself useful.

He slipped his hands around Ryou's head and lifted it off his lap gently enough to not disturb his sleep. Ryou's breathing didn't even hitch; for Malik, this was just more proof of how exhausted he was. He slithered away as carefully as he could and placed Ryou's head back on the cushions of the couch. He spotted a throw on the nearby armchair and used it to cover Ryou's form, then stood back with a satisfied smile.

Alright. Time to get to work.

He made his way to the kitchen and looked at the overflowing sink. He whispered a few curses as he searched for a sponge and the dish wash liquid. He hated doing the dishes more than any other of the house chores, but if he could be of any help to Ryou, he would take it. He couldn't tidy up because he had no idea where any of Ryou's stuff was supposed to go and he couldn't vacuum without waking him up, so... Dishes it was. He sighed and attacked the pile that awaited in the sink.

It took him an hour to get everything done. By the time he finished, his back was aching and his hands were freezing; there'd been no warm water, so he'd settled for cold all the way. His fingers had gone numb, but he was proud to see the sink empty and shining clean.

He tried to rub some warmth into his hands as he went to the apartment's fusebox and looked for the boiler switch. He flicked it to heat some water, bent on getting Ryou in the shower before sending him off to work.

Perhaps he was being overprotective, but he hated seeing his friend like this. Ryou's behavior made dread bubble in Malik's stomach, because he knew where it could lead. He knew how easy it was to fall—as he knew that falling was infinitely easier than standing back up.

Thank the gods, Malik was determined. He would let none of them fall, and no yami would shake his resolve. Neither Ryou's, nor his.

* * *

Ryou opened his eyes to find Malik crouched before him and shaking him gently. He blinked a few times before he realized he was lying on his couch, securely wrapped in a throw. Judging by the patch of sky that was visible through the window, it was sometime in the afternoon.

He brought a heavy hand to his face and rubbed his eyes. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Excellent observation, Sherlock," Malik smirked.

Ryou scoffed at his remark and propped his body on his elbow. The light in the living room was on even though dusk was at least two hours away. Typical Malik.

Ryou's eyes searched for his phone to check at the time. Instead, his gaze fell on a pile of folded clothes that certainly hadn't been there before. Well, the clothes had been there, but they had been strewn about haphazardly instead of neatly folded.

"Did you tidy up in here?" he asked incredulously, looking around.

"I did my best," Malik said with a shrug. He pointed at the pile of clothes. "I folded whatever wasn't too smelly. The rest is in the laundry basket. You've got some time before you'll have to leave for work, so you'd better take a shower. There's warm water."

"Wow," Ryou mumbled as he sat up. "For how long have I been asleep?"

"Couple of hours. Look, I gotta run if I want to catch my train, so..." He rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably. "I didn't want to leave without waking you up. Didn't want to leave the door unlocked... you know."

Ryou examined Malik's face. He looked worried, almost anxious, and clearly reluctant to go. He was glancing up at Ryou uncertainly, biting his lip.

"I'll be fine, Malik," Ryou said in his most soothing tone. When his friend did not seem convinced, he added, "Really. You don't have to worry so much."

Malik gave a sharp laugh. "Well, let me be the judge of that."

"Worrying will make you age faster," Ryou said with a smirk. "It will destroy your skin."

"It'll still look better than yours, sweetheart," Malik shot back.

Ryou laughed tiredly and rubbed his eyes again. "Can't argue with that, Ishtar. I feel like shit." He felt marginally better than before but, if he wanted to be honest, he really needed to rest. Even though he'd just woken up from his nap, his body was screaming for more sleep. And food.

"Two hours of sleep are hardly enough," Malik said, as if reading his thoughts. "Try to get more rest tonight, okay?"

"Okay, mother hen."

Ryou earned a soft slap at the back of his head for that tease and giggled again. Malik got to his feet and stretched; under the glow of the lightbulb, his sandy hair turned golden.

"I really gotta get going," he said, checking at the time on his phone. "But, first..." He lifted his gaze and his eyes pierced Ryou's. "Promise me that you'll be careful."

Ryou scoffed again. "Careful, how? It's not like I can do anyth-"

" _Promise me,_ " Malik repeated harshly.

Ryou closed his mouth, unnerved by the sudden change in Malik's demeanor. His friend's look had darkened considerably. His normally playful expression had turned somber, with lips pressed into a tight, pale line. And Ryou understood why.

He had been about to tell Malik that he could hardly control what Bakura decided to do, and that being careful was not entirely in his power, but he kept silent. Because Malik was not talking about this kind of caution.

Malik was talking about Ryou himself. About the lack of sleep and his too thin frame. About the dusty bottle of vodka on the shelf. About the countless empty bottles he had found scattered in his apartment over the years and all the times he'd had to shake Ryou awake from more unusual places than a couch. About his frail door and the bolt that he put to use much less than he should.

He wasn't afraid of what Bakura would do to Ryou... But rather, what Ryou would do to himself, given the right - or the wrong - push.

He swallowed and averted his gaze from Malik's.

"Haven't I promised that once already?" he said in a low voice.

"Please, Ryou."

He sighed deeply. "Okay. I promise."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malik nod once.

"Okay..." he heard him say. "Okay," he repeated with more confidence. "I gotta run. Call me if you need me, alright? I don't mind the hour. I'll keep my phone on during shootings, too."

"Will they allow it?"

"I don't care," Malik said, putting his leather jacket on. He leaned forward to ruffle Ryou's hair. "See you on Saturday, cream puff."

"You take care, too, smart ass. And..." Ηe gestured at the room around him. "Thanks for the help. I really appreciate it."

Malik, who was already at the door, flashed him a wide smile. "Don't mention it, I'm glad I could help. Lock after me, okay?"

And, like that, he was gone.

It took five minutes for Ryou to finally find the willpower to stand up. He locked the door - he'd promised, after all - and headed for the bathroom. As he walked past the kitchen, he noticed that the familiar clutter in the sink was gone.

He shook his head with a fond smile on his lips.

"Whoa, Malik."

Once in the bathroom, he turned on the hot water, hoping the steam would warm up the cold room before he'd have to take his clothes off. The sound of water hitting the bottom of the bathtub filled the small place.

He leaned against the sink as he waited and looked in the mirror. Deep brown eyes blinked back at him - tired, dim, and a little uncertain. As he stared, the gaze turned angry.

At some point in his life, mirrors had grown to be the stuff of nightmares for him. He had repeatedly looked in one only to realize that his reflection wasn't really his. He'd seen the way his eyes looked when a different conscience was ruling them. Even after the Ring was gone from his life, he had looked in that mirror each morning, half-expecting to see that foreign look on his face again.

He'd spent eleven years convincing himself that he'd never see that look again. And yet, yesterday he'd seen it from up close—and it hadn't been in a mirror.

The thought made him want to shatter the damn thing.

He looked in it now and all he thought was that the... _other him_ was currently using the same body. There were two of them walking in the streets of Domino. There was no doubt about that - Ryou had seen him from close enough to recognize his own features. In a way, he was the host once more.

The urge to smash the mirror grew stronger.

And yet, they did not look exactly the same. Ryou had noticed that, too; he would never mistake his yami for his reflection. How could he? His face looked so different when _he_ was wearing it. And it wasn't just the face—it was everything. They did not stand in the same way. They did not react in the same way. Their voices, despite the likeness of their vocal chords, were as different as night and day.

They weren't the same. Even after all this time, they were still Ryou Bakura and Yami Bakura. They were opposites. Light and dark.

He wondered how anyone was ever able to mistake the spirit of the Ring for him. He wondered whether his 'friends' would be able to tell them apart now that they dwelled in separate bodies.

A harsh, bitter laugh echoed in the small room.

He shook his head at his reflection.

"You are pathetic," he told to himself.

He took off his clothes and got in the tub.

* * *

Ryou was working at a clothes' store in central Domino. It was a popular one and it stood right in the middle of one of Domino's busiest market streets, which meant there was always an abundance of customers to serve and no chance to catch your breath.

It had taken quite a while for Ryou to land a job there. He'd spent years going from shitty, underpaid job to shitty, underpaid job. He considered this one pretty shitty, too, but at least the money was decent. That was the only reason he gritted his teeth every day and walked through that door. He knew it was the best a person like him could hope for - that is, a person that barely finished high-school and still hadn't graduated from college.

So, he went there every day and smiled, folded clothes and put up with customers for what felt like an eternity - or more - and tried not to whine too much to Malik when he asked him about it.

He knew this wasn't a bad job. Most of the other employees were happy about it, or at least grateful. However, the only thing Ryou was grateful for was his ability to appear polite whenever he needed to, even if inwardly he kept cursing every item of clothing he folded and every insane customer and every impossibly slow tick of the clock.

Still, nothing compared to how much he hated walking in there in that particular afternoon. Sleeplessness was taking its toll on him, the shower had done little to invigorate him, he still did not feel like eating and his nerves were frayed from constantly glancing over his shoulder all the way there. To make everything worse, it was the holiday season, which meant double the work, double the fatigue, and double the insanity.

He knew he wasn't exactly employee-of-the-month material, as he knew they'd hired him mostly for his looks rather than his sparkly personality. In a place like this, they valued an appealing exterior and a wide, polite smile - and, fortunately for him, Ryou had always had both. He'd always had girls fawning over him in high school, even though they always went back to keeping their distance when they discovered how much of a geek he was. Even now, when he did not look at his best, he often caught admiring or appreciative glances.

However, this day his exterior was far from being remotely appealing. He knew he looked like a mess, even by his current standards. He had tried to make himself as presentable as possible, but there were some things he just couldn't hide.

Oh well. If they didn't fire him for scaring off the customers, he guessed there was no harm done.

The store was stuffed with customers; their banter, combined with the music and the phones that rang, made for an unbearable noise. Ryou hovered on the threshold, feeling already exhausted.

Despite the overwhelming crowd, it was impossible to miss the disapproving look the manager of the store shot him. Mrs Nishimura was a tall and quite attractive woman in her mid-thirties, but the amazing thing about her was her ability to turn from sickeningly-sweet-mannered to a stern boss in a matter of seconds.

"You look awful, Bakura," she told him when he approached her and greeted her with a polite bow.

Ryou shivered. He was used to being called by his last name, especially in his workplace, but in the light of recent events it just sounded... wrong.

Mrs Nishimura narrowed her eyes and scrutinized him from head to toe. "Are you sick?" Even when asking a question like this, the authoritative tone did not leave her voice.

Ryou shook his head. "I'm just tired, Mrs Nishimura," he replied in a low voice.

"I can see that," she huffed. She opened a folder and frowned at the paper inside. "Well, I had zone one assigned to you today, but I can't have you at the front of the store looking like _this_." She shot him another disapproving look while Ryou tried his best to look apologetic instead of indifferent. She sighed and crossed out something at the paper in front of her. "I'm moving you to zone three. And smile a bit, will you?"

"Yes, Mrs Nishimura."

It was going to be a long afternoon.

.

.

.

.

 ** _Hello! I'm back and I kept my promise! This update was a fast one! ...Kinda. XD_**

 ** _Anyway!_**

 ** _I_ _wanted to clarify a few things about the yamis' appearance.  
My intention was to have them look the way they did in the manga (and anime) whenever they assumed control of their hikaris' bodies. In other words, I didn't want them looking like their ancient-Egyptian selves, but rather like their modern versions. So, with that being said, their main differences from their hikaris are in body postures, facial expressions, behavior, way of talking etc.  
I think I did not make it clear enough in the previous chapters and I apologize for it. I hope it's clear now. ^_^_**

 ** _(...and yeah, no matter how bad-ass the ancient Thief King looks - what with the scar and everything - I decided to go for the Yami Bakura look)_**

 ** _Another thing I wanted to say (concerning chapter 6) was that this won't be an Anzu-bashing fic (in case you were wondering). I think it's natural for certain characters to talk with... resentment towards her, but there are two sides in each story and, eventually, I'm going to have a chapter from her point of view, too.  
_**

 ** _Last but not least: there WILL be pairings in this fic. However... I'm not sure what is the proper way to tag them. I mean... does the term 'puzzleshipping' only apply when Atem is in the Puzzle and not in a separate body? To have 'tendershipping', does Bakura have to be merged with Zorc, and thus be considered as Yami Bakura instead of Thief King Bakura? This is all so confusing! D:  
Veterans of the Yu-Gi-Oh fandom, share your wisdom!_**

 ** _Many thanks to everyone who has commented so far! As always, I'd love to know what you think!_**

 ** _So, how about a review? :D_**


	8. A new kind of shadow game

_Warnings: Semi-graphic depictions of violence, Alcohol use, Smoking_

* * *

 **Chapter 8: A new kind of shadow game**

Bakura felt the doorbell buzz under his finger as he pressed it. He waited, eyeing the pink letters above him with apprehension. There was no other sound apart from the voices issuing from the open window overhead and, after a minute, those stopped, too.

He rang the doorbell again, tapping his foot impatiently. He needed no further tests of determination - the pink neon sign above the door was daunting enough as it were.

Just as he was about to ring the bell for the third and last time, the door finally opened, revealing a massive man with small, hostile eyes. Despite it being the middle of winter, the man was wearing a plain white t-shirt, pulled tight over bulging muscles. His exposed arms were tattooed down to his knuckles; he folded them across his chest as he eyed Bakura.

"What do you want? We do not open until nine," he barked.

Even though the top of Bakura's white head barely reached the man's shoulders, the yami refused to be daunted by him. He narrowed his eyes in his usual haughty way and said, "I am here to talk to Mr Ishido."

The man lifted an eyebrow and scanned Bakura from head to toes.

"Is he expecting you?"

Bakura hesitated. He considered lying for the sake of getting inside without further ado, but that could lead to more problems than it solved. Lying his way in was probably not the wisest move.

"No," he replied at length.

"Then get lost, pal," the man said and made to get back inside.

Bakura's hand shot out to hold the door open.

The man's look darkened. "I think I did not make myself clear, pal. You have ten seconds to get your ass to the end of this street, turn right and disappear from my sight."

Bakura's nose scrunched up in contempt at the man's attempt to intimidate him.

"I am here to see Mr Ishido," he repeated firmly.

"Nine..." the man started counting down.

"Look, _pal_ ," Bakura's lips pulled back into a snarl. "I am here to talk business with this Ishido guy and I'm not leaving until I do so. Got it?"

"What I got is that you'll lose your arm if you don't get lost. This is your last warning."

"I'm here to ask him for a job," Bakura insisted, then raked his brain for the name of the guy who had recommended this place to him. "Joji sent me."

The man frowned; the expression made his eyes look even smaller. He examined Bakura's face intently.

The yami kept at his unwavering, almost stubborn, look. He seemed to pass the test, for the man huffed and growled, "Wait here." The door closed and Bakura was once more left to wait at the threshold.

The buildings around him were too tall to allow the sun rays to reach the bottom of the narrow alley. The cold was sharp down there, so Bakura dug his hands in the pockets of the thin jacket he was wearing. He grit his teeth and wondered - not for the first time - whether he should give up on this whole Ishido affair. He could try his hand at pick-pocketing one more time. Perhaps break into an apartment or something.

The door opened again before he made up his mind. The same man appeared and motioned at Bakura to follow him.

Well, there was no going back now.

He crossed the threshold and found himself in a long, dark hallway. Bakura's first impression was that the whole place had a decrepit feel to it. The walls were paneled with old and unpolished wood, and the plaster at the ceiling had started falling off. The man lead the way, walking across the hallway and past a flight of stairs. A worn red carpet muffled their steps.

At the end of the corridor stood a set of heavy, soundproof doors. The man pushed them open, motioned Bakura inside with a curt nod, and stood to the side to allow him to walk in first.

Bakura stepped into a spacious, high-ceilinged and dimly-lit room. The color of wood and tones of red predominated, muffled and dull in the half-light. He quickly realized he was in some sort of club. Scattered across the room was an abundance of tall, round tables; across the entrance, to the far edge of the room, stood a stage. The same cheap and stained carpet covered every inch of the floor. There were a few tall windows, but their crimson curtains were shut tight. All other lights were off. It was quite warm in there; warm enough for Bakura to take his hands off his pockets and finally stop shivering.

A bar took up the wall to his right. The place was empty but for two figures that were sitting at it, leaning against its long counter. The pair comprised of a man as muscular as the one that was escorting Bakura, and a plump woman that seemed like an explosion of colors amidst all the browns and reds of the place. Both pairs of eyes were already on Bakura, staring at him with curiosity.

The yami glanced around again, his eyes lingering on the stage despite his will.

What had that idiot Joji thought he was talking about when he asked about a job? What kind of job would he land in a place like _this_? He guessed they did not bring him in to make him a waiter.

A clinking noise echoed in the silent hall. Bakura turned around and spotted the source of the sound: the woman was beckoning to them, causing her numerous gold bracelets to jingle.

"Come on," the man that was escorting him gave him a slight push towards the couple.

The man sitting at the bar seemed quite indifferent, but the woman's eyes gleamed as she gazed at the approaching newcomer. She was sitting cross-legged on a stool, taking long and lazy drags from a cigarette. Her face was so heavily made up that Bakura couldn't really tell her age, but he could see her foundation creasing in the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. She was wrapped in many layers of flowing fabrics in extravagant colors and had topped everything with a turquoise robe that may have looked good on a more attractive woman. Her long red nails gleamed when she flicked the ash from the tip of her cigarette.

When Bakura reached her, she exhaled the puff of smoke she had been holding and gave him something that, in another world, might have been called a smile.

"Well, well... Is this for me, Enki?" she said with a fake laugh.

The man next to Bakura, apparently named Enki, shook his head.

"No, ma'am. He's here to see Mr Ishido."

The woman's face fell into a pout. "Oh, I see," she murmured. Still, she did not take her gaze off Bakura. Her eyes examined him in an almost professional way; he was under the impression that she could see past his baggy and dirty clothes and measure the body underneath. When her eyes came to rest on his face, she sighed with something that could or could not have been regret. "What a shame. What's your name, darling?"

Bakura's throat convulsed upon hearing the term of address. He refused to grace that with an answer. He would never acknowledge someone who had called him _darling_ , even if that led to his being kicked out of that place.

Now that he thought about it, being kicked out did not seem such a bad fate.

"Ouch," the woman said, pressing a hand against her heart. "What a cold look! You break my heart, darling. And you are going to break a lot more hearts with that look of yours, I'm sure. Enki, if Ishido has no use for him, bring him back up to me, please."

"I'm not interested," Bakura said dryly.

"Oh?" the woman lifted a badly-drawn eyebrow; Bakura wondered how she managed to keep her lids from drooping under the weight of all this make-up. "A shame, indeed. I could definitely work with that face. A know a few hearts that would melt at the sight of those cheekbones."

Bakura's mouth twisted and he looked away. One more minute of this and he would walk out of there himself. His stomach might be stuck to his spine, but he was not _that_ desperate.

Thankfully, the woman dismissed them with a flick of her hand and a jingle of her bracelets.

"All right, then, move along. Let Ishido have all the good ones." She huffed and turned back to her companion.

Enki gave her a curt bow and Bakura almost scoffed at his display of respect.

He followed him around the bar to a simple door that looked like it could be leading to some sort of storage room. He was surprised when he went through it and found himself in the middle of another long corridor. Its edges were hidden in deep darkness. Only one light was on, gracing the long space with a cold, white glow; much different from the warm hues of the previous room. He managed to discern a few more doors, but he was not able to make out the end of the corridor, no matter how much he squinted.

Enki led him towards the single light, which hung over what seemed to be a wide trapdoor - the kind that led to basements or cellars. He opened it, revealing a flight of steps, feebly illuminated by small white spotlights. Bakura could not see the bottom of the staircase, but it was clear that it was burrowing deep underground.

He swallowed. Underground meant less chances for a quick and easy escape, should things turn sour.

On the other hand, this seemed a lot more promising than the sleazy bar they had just left. The secrecy and the sheer amount of doors one had to cross to reach this place definitely suggested illegal activities. What kind of illegal activities, Bakura had no idea, but it could be anything from protection to drug dealing. Or even a criminal organization with some kind of half-mad leader that wants to take over the world via playing card games.

He started climbing down the steps and Enki followed suit, pulling the trapdoor shut behind them.

At the bottom awaited yet another corridor, but this one was wide and well lit. It seemed and felt new, especially when compared with the ancient building they had just left. There were no swerves and no detours. It just led straight to a heavy double door with a guard before it; a man of an even more impressive build than Enki, and much better dressed. In the few seconds it took to reach the guarded door, Bakura took in everything around him.

There were two security cameras: one at the bottom of the staircase and one right above the guard's head. Bakura ground his teeth. If this was the only entrance, then it would indeed be impossible for anyone to enter or leave undetected. It made him feel... uncomfortable.

Just what kind of lair was he walking into?

The guard scrutinized him and contempt settled on his face. The handle of a handgun was visible under the jacket of his black suit. Bakura tried his best not to scoff and squared his shoulders proudly. Handguns and security cameras. How banal. If he had his Millennium Ring, none of these things would be a nuisance to him. Their technology was powerless before his shadow magic.

...Of course, he did not have the Ring anymore and there was not an ounce of shadow magic in his body, but he chose not to dwell on it. He would not be intimidated by simple goons with guns.

The guard nodded to Enki and held the door open for them.

Beyond stretched another spacious and subtly-lit room, where everything was in hues of grey. Every light was on, but that did not succeed in making the place bright. On the contrary, it seemed that some corners were deliberately left in the shadows.

Bakura's gaze was immediately drawn to the centre of the room. There, standing on a raised platform, stood an octagon boxing ring, caged in chain-link. The space around the ring was empty for a good thirty-feet radius: no seats, no benches, no tables. Beyond that space the scenery changed. In the left side of the room were rows of blackjack and poker tables, with their green tops striking amidst the grey-scale tones of the place. Next to them stood a couple of roulettes.

A gambling den, then; possibly more.

There was a bar, taking up half of the wall across from Bakura, partly obscured by the boxing ring. A lone barman was standing behind the counter, watching him with apathy. The right side of the room was taken up by small, round, white tables, surrounded by a few chairs each; there were twenty, or twenty-five of them. And, beyond them, on a platform higher that the rest of the room - almost at the same level with the boxing ring - stood a few more tables, each one tucked in its own separate alcove in the wall. The only people in the room, apart from the bored barman, were sitting around one of those elevated tables. Cigarette smoke hovered over their heads, taking a silvery sheen under the white spotlights. The cloud of smoke, coupled with the deliberate half-light, made it hard to discern any faces, but Bakura guessed it didn't really matter. That group seemed to be their destination, so he would probably see them all from up close soon.

His eyes swiped the place hastily. There was a set of double wing doors next to the bar, probably leading to a kitchen or something similar. There was a small, wooden door with no sign; no clue as to where that one led. And a small corridor at the far side of the room, with a small sign above it that read _'Restroom'_ no questions about that one. No security cameras in there. At least, none that Bakura could spot, which was more worrying than reassuring. No emergency exits, either; weren't these modern places required to have one of these?

His eyes moved back to the group of men, who had fallen silent upon his entrance. Enki gave him an imperative push towards them. Bakura grunted his displeasure at the gesture and started walking towards the group of men. Beyond the haze of smoke, he made out six pairs of glinting eyes. He climbed the few steps of the platform, taking extra care in retaining his haughty, almost defiant posture. He did not care whether his attitude would work in his favor or not, but he was not going to act timidly in front of these people.

Once he was three paces away from the table, Enki's hand landed on his shoulder, indicating that he was not allowed to go any further. The yami momentarily glowered at the hand that had clamped him, but complied and stayed put.

Of the six men across from him, two were standing against the wall with their backs held straight and their hands folded in front of them. The other four were sitting on the plush leather couches around the table; two of them to the right, one to the left, and all three of them keeping a respectful distance from the one that was sitting at the head of the table.

Bakura was ready to bet his newly-acquired body that, if any of these men was the infamous Ishido, then it was the one at the centre. He was sitting back leisuredly, his face hidden in shadows, and was smoking a cigar that was responsible for the thickness of the cloud around their heads.

"This is him, Mr Ishido, sir," Enki said.

Sure enough, the man sitting at the head of the table moved. He leaned forward, allowing the glow of a spotlight to reveal the features of his face. Dark eyes and equally dark hair, a straight nose, thin lips. There was nothing remarkable about his appearance; he looked like an average man in his mid-thirties, just better groomed than most.

"Thank you, Enki," he said and waved a dismissive hand.

Enki released Bakura and backed away a few paces, but did not leave the room entirely.

He could feel all gazes in the room piercing him, but Bakura focused only on Ishido. He tried to read the man's face, to get to know what he was dealing with.

The first thing that struck him was that there was no emotion on that face. Well, no _real_ emotion. Nothing could be extracted from his expression. Bakura couldn't tell whether his appearance had elicited surprise, contempt or disgust. Everything, from the amount of interest he showed to the specks of boredom he flavored that interest with, seemed incredibly calculated. The angle of his eyebrows, the shape of his mouth, the slight tilt of his head were under his complete control. Nothing leaked through.

And Bakura did not like it. Before this armor of a man, he felt disproportionately exposed.

Ishido's dark eyes scanned Bakura once and came to rest on his face.

"So... I heard that you wanted to see me, and apparently were very insistent about it." His voice held no annoyance, no threat, neither interest nor disinterest.

Bakura waited for him to go on but, when Ishido didn't, he realized that some kind of answer was expected from him. "Yes, I did," he grunted.

"What's your name, then?"

"Bakura."

Ishido slightly lifted one eyebrow. "First name or last name?"

"First name."

"Hmm. And last name?"

"None. Just Bakura."

"I see." He placed his cigar on the ashtray before him. The rest of the men remained silent, watching. "I understand you found me through Joji. That old codger. I'm surprised he's still out there." There was no surprise in his voice. "So..." He laced his fingers and rested his chin on them. "Why are you here?"

"I am looking for a job," Bakura said, as if that much wasn't obvious. Enki had most probably informed Ishido about that already but, for whatever reason, he wanted to hear it from him.

Whatever. He'd play his game for now.

"Is that the word in the streets these days?" Ishido said, feigning thoughtfulness. "Do people go around saying that I hand out jobs to whomever shows up on my doorstep?" Again there was no annoyance in his voice, just carefully measured incredulity.

"I was told that there might be a job here for someone with my skills," Bakura replied in an equally measured voice.

"And what are those skills?"

"I am a thief," Bakura said simply.

Ishido raised both eyebrows this time.

"Does this look like a den of thieves to you?" he asked, opening his arms to indicate the room before him.

A smirk curved Bakura's lips.

"I'm good in all kinds of stealing. Give me a deck, and I can assure you that no opponent will beat me."

A smile that hinted amusement appeared on Ishido's face; a small thing, rehearsed to perfection.

"Is that so?" he said, drawling deliberately. He sat back; the shadows enveloped him again but the glint of his smile remained visible. "And what makes you think that I steal from my customers?" He shook his head. "Cheating is bad for business. We do honest work here, Mr Bakura."

Bakura had to hold back a sharp laugh. Anything that required this level of secrecy and cover would never suggest 'honest work'.

His expression did not escape Ishido. His smile seemed to widen, but Bakura couldn't tell with certainty. "It seems you have some doubts," he said lightly. "I don't know what they told you about me and my employees, but I have no use for a thief."

Bakura's scowl deepened. Ishido was mocking him; he was sure of it. His hunch told him that the man before him was much more than the owner of an underground gambling den. His behavior was too careful, too... experienced, his acting skills too honed - not to mention he was there in the middle of noon, while his joint was closed for the day, surrounded by bodyguards and fellow 'businessmen'.

"Then what do you have a use for?" Bakura asked. "'Cause I have more skills that could prove useful." He hated that: trying to sell himself like he was some kind of product, but... The cold of the street was too fresh on his skin.

A low laugh drifted across the table.

"I have no use for anything right now, really."

Bakura was getting quite annoyed. And impatient.

"Then why did you allow me to come in?" he growled. "You knew what I wanted."

Ishido's silhouette moved; he brought a thoughtful finger to his lips. "Hmm... I admit I was curious."

Bakura did not buy that. Such men don't interrupt meetings just because they are _curious_. He wouldn't have consented to see him at all if he really had no use for him. Hell, he wouldn't have let a complete stranger enter his super-secret den just like that. No... He was simply testing him, somehow. He had called him in, expecting to see something in him. Or, perhaps, expecting Bakura to say the right thing.

And Bakura had just about had enough of this. He was done trying to prove his worth to small time criminals. It was pathetic. Zorc would have sent these men scurrying to their mothers' laps, and yet there he was, trying to figure out what was the right thing to say.

He bristled in silence for a few seconds, glancing around. Damn the moment he decided he needed a fucking boss.

Yet, he was very much in need of something. Anything. And if that idiot did not want to hire him for his 'dirtier' jobs, then so be it. He obviously hadn't earned his trust, and he wasn't willing to try more.

As his eyes swept the room, they lingered on the octagon cage for a few seconds. He turned his head back to Ishido.

"Alright, then. Keep your secrets. I don't give a damn. But I really need some money, so..." He pointed to the boxing ring with his thumb. "I take it that you pay whomever puts up a good show in there?"

Ishido's smile widened by half an inch.

"You want to fight for me?"

"I want to fight for _money_ ," Bakura corrected him.

"You don't strike me as the fighting type," Ishido said, pointedly examining him again.

"Give me some food and a pair of pants that fits, and I'll give you a show to remember."

Ishido chuckled. "That's... promising. And yet, hardly believable."

"Try me," Bakura shrugged.

Ishido considered him for a moment, his index finger tapping lightly at his lips. "Alright, I'll give you a chance. Tonight is a fight night, after all. I'll let you participate, in exchange for food and clothing."

His empty stomach gave a hopeful lurch, but he showed none of his enthusiasm. "And what about money? How much for a game?"

"Now, now..." Ishido shook his head. "I'm giving you a chance. That's your payment. Take it or leave it."

The edge of Bakura's mouth twisted unhappily, but he said nothing. There was no point in refusing now, was there? Even without a payment in cash, he would get a meal and clothes out of this, and perhaps more. That sounded good enough.

...Sure, walking out of there would also mean walking away from a possibly severe beating. However, if he had to choose between a beating and the streets, he would take the beating. A bit of pain did not scare him. He was the Thief King. He'd learned how to survive in the muddy streets of Egypt, thousands of years ago. His resolve was molded from blood and sand and hardened under the scorching sun. The soft, coddled men of today had nothing on him.

He wasn't wary of entering the ring, he was wary if what might come after it. He was wary of the man before him. The same careful smile still played on Ishido's lips, all thoughts and intentions behind it remaining unreadable. Definitely a sign for Bakura to _not trust this man_.

But, whatever. Fighting in his underground den and trusting him were two different things.

"Fine," Bakura said.

Ishido clapped his hands together. "We have a deal, then! Excellent! Enki, find Aaron and tell im I've got another fighter for tonight."

"Yes, sir," Enki replied with a bow.

"Stay with our guest until Aaron arrives. And make sure that he receives the agreed-upon payment before tonight's fight."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

Enki went for the double swing doors next to the bar. Bakura threw one final glance towards Ishido's group, but their attention was back to whatever they were discussing, making it clear that they were done with him for now. He let out a grunt and followed Enki.

It turned out that the double swing doors led, indeed, to a kitchen. After the half-light of the main hall, everything in there seemed too bright. White light was reflected on stainless steel surfaces and numerous appliances with a harshness that made Bakura's eyes hurt.

A single employee was sitting at a table, half-asleep over his unsolved sudoku puzzle. He glanced up when he heard them enter and frowned at Bakura.

"Who is this, Enki?"

"New fighter."

"And what's he doing here? Fight night doesn't start for another eight hours."

"He's here for _lunch_ ," Enki said with a derisive scoff. "Boss's orders. Keep an eye on him for five minutes, I've got to call Aaron."

"Fine, fine..."

Enki left through the double swing doors, leaving Bakura and the kitchen employee - cook, perhaps? - alone. The man's eyes flicked back to Bakura, examining his figure - something that had really started getting to the yami's nerves. Then he sighed tiredly and pushed his sudoku aside.

"Okay, then. What do you wanna eat?" he asked Bakura.

"Whatever, as long as there's plenty of it."

The other man sighed again and opened huge refrigerator. "Is chicken alright?"

"Err..."

He realized with a start that he had no idea. He hadn't tasted anything in three millennia. He didn't even remember how tasting food felt _._ He'd been so preoccupied with _finding_ food that it hadn't even crossed his mind that he'd have to go through the experience of actually _tasting_ it.

Taste was one of the things he could not feel back when he was just a spirit in the Millennium Ring; just like hunger, or pain, and all other physical stimuli. Ryou had scolded him repeatedly - or had tried to, anyway - for the emaciated state he used to leave his body in. Although he had fed Ryou's body a couple of times when he'd been in control, he'd done it out of a realization that his host's body needed sustenance, not out of actual hunger. This detachment from earthly needs had served his purposes back then, but now... it just left him baffled.

He did not know if chicken was alright. Would it taste the same it had back in Egypt?

...Had he even tasted chicken back in Egypt?

"Dude, you alright?" the cook asked him, torn between indifference and concern.

"Err... yeah. Chicken's fine."

* * *

Having a body was complicated - he could say that with certainty now.

For one, once that guy started cooking and all kinds of smells filled the kitchen, Bakura's stomach started grumbling worse than before and he had to repeatedly swallow the saliva that filled his mouth. He did not like it. He was under the impression it made him look like starving beggar - which he _was_ , but that did not mean he was content with looking like it.

He'd thought that the presence of food would have calmed his body down, not send it into this kind of frantic want. It was hard to keep his haughty look when his stomach growled so loudly.

When the cook put a plate of chicken and rice in front of him, Bakura felt he might faint with the intensity of his body's need for it. He was ready to wolf everything down, when a warning emerged from the depths of his memory and stilled his hand. Memory, or some long-ago ingrained instinct.

 _Eat slowly, with measured bites. Eat too fast and you'll regret it._

He frowned at his plate. Did that warning make any sense?

It probably did. He had found himself starving many times in the past... hadn't he? He remembered it... sort of. Of course. Hunger had been unavoidable for a vagrant child in the sun-baked streets of Kemet. If his instincts told him to eat slowly, then he'd trust his past self.

When food touched his tongue for the first time in three thousand years, Bakura decided that yes, chicken was alright. Hell, it was more than alright. Overwhelming, even. He tried not to let too much of his contentment show on his face, though, because Enki was back and watching him closely. If Bakura wanted to keep some sort of upper hand in this situation, he had to keep acting as if everything was below him. He knew that, the moment he'd let a crack show, everybody would be on him like rabid hyenas. And not just in this particular place. That thing was a given, no matter where in the world he was, or with whom.

Was that another ingrained lesson? He guessed so.

By the time he emptied the second plate, he was feeling better. Less faint, less light-headed. There was no painful hollowness in his abdomen anymore, just a feeling of satisfaction. Which was nice.

And feeling nice was unusual.

Instead of making him feel at ease, it set him on edge even more, simply because it felt wrong. Wrong, and dangerous. Feeling nice held the threat of him relaxing, being lulled into a false state of safety and lowering his defenses. And such a thing could prove fatal.

So he declined more food, even though he felt that he _needed_ to eat more. His stupid host must have been taking really bad care of his body.

Idiot yadonushi. After so many years of owning a body, he was supposed to know how to take care of one. As a result of his host's incompetence, Bakura was now stuck with this useless pile of skinny limbs.

But no matter. He would make it work. He was already feeling better.

"So, what's next?" he turned to Enki, who was leaning against a wall, looking bored.

"We are waiting for Aaron."

"Who is Aaron?"

"He's the one in charge of fight nights. Schedule, fighters, pairings and the like. Your 'coach', for lack of a better term. But don't expect actual coaching."

"I see." Bakura pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. "And how long 'till this Aaron guy arrives?"

"Any minute now. I'll take you to the changing room, if you're done here."

"Yeah, I'm done."

"Gee, I could use a _'thank you for the meal',_ " the cook murmured.

Bakura scoffed and followed Enki out of the kitchen and back in the main hall. Ishido and his group were still talking and ignoring them completely, but Bakura did not mistake their seeming indifference for a lack of awareness for their comings and goings. The only one that openly watched them as they crossed the hall was the barman, who seemed as bored as the cook had been. Apparently, even when this place was closed for the day, they had to be there to serve Ishido and his affiliates.

Enki led Bakura through the simple, wooden door he had spotted before. A small corridor connected a few rooms that seemed like changing rooms or some kind of prep area. Enki turned on the light in one of them, revealing benches, sinks, a couple of showers and a large mirror. One wall was completely taken up by small lockers.

Enki leaned against a wall and crossed his bulky arms across his chest, not letting Bakura off his gaze. Bakura took off his jacket and sat on one of the benches to wait for Aaron, doing his best to ignore Enki and his annoying constant vigilance.

He started picking one of his sweater's many loose threads. The thing was too big on him, and it had definitely seen better - and cleaner - days. If Ishido kept his end of the bargain, he'd have clean and fitting clothes soon. Bakura wondered whether he'd be able to get a shower out of this situation, too. He'd take whatever he could, that was for sure.

The door opened and a man walked in; a short one, apparently in his mid-forties. Whatever hair was left on his head was buzzed, leaving every crook of his skull clearly visible. He was plump, but he had the stature of a man that had been in a good physical condition for years. He retained his well-developed musculature, despite his round belly and heavy gait.

He closed the door behind him and immediately peered at Bakura.

"You are the new one?" he said instead of a greeting. The yami nodded. "Get up," the man ordered briskly.

Bakura complied, even though he was not looking forward to another scrutinizing session.

Sure enough, the man's tiny grey eyes examined Bakura from head to foot. Then he frowned, bringing a pair of bushy eyebrows together in clear dissatisfaction. "Take off your sweater."

Bakura did as he was told, and took the huge and smelly thing off. He felt his hair stand on end from the sudden change of temperature, even though it wasn't really cold in there.

The man shook his head. "What is this joke?" he turned to Enki.

"Boss's orders," was all that Enki said.

The man huffed and reached for his pocket. He took out a pack of cigarettes, picked one and stored the rest back in his pocket. Bakura watched in silence as the man lit the edge of his cigarette and took a very deep drag. Bakura had learned enough about his world to know that smoking was supposed to calm the nerves of the people who indulged in it, so he supposed it was not a good sign that his... coach, or whatever, had felt the need to light one upon seeing him.

Then again, he could be one of those people that smoked all day long, no matter what.

The man started prodding Bakura's sides with his huge hand. Under the sudden contact the yami jolted, but he immediately willed himself to stay still as he underwent his 'coach's' inspection.

"There's just skin an' bones here," the man mumbled, smoke streaming out of his mouth.

He kept prodding Bakura in various places for a while more, muttering curses under his breath. Then he took a step back, took another long drag from his cigarette and puffed out the smoke slowly.

"What's your name?"

"...Bakura."

"What happened to the rest of it?"

"It's just Bakura."

The man took another drag and said, "I'm Aaron. I'm the one responsible for the fights here, and I'm supposed to send your ass to the ring tonight." He shook his head. "The way I see it, that ain't happening."

"I can fight," Bakura said through gritted teeth.

"Don't make me laugh, son. A blow of air could take you down, and I'm not sending you out there to be killed."

"What's it to you?"

Aaron puffed out smoke furiously. "Look, I don't give a rat's ass whether you get your face smashed or not, but it's bad business. We're not some lowly fight club where every airhead who thinks they can fight can come in and try their luck. People place serious bets on our fighters and, let's face it, son: you just ain't good business."

"Try me."

"Try what? Sending you out there to be knocked-out in two seconds?"

"I have a deal with Ishido."

"What the fuck is Ishido thinking?" Aaron exclaimed. He gingerly turned around and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

In the ensuing silence, Bakura scowled at the floor, avoiding Enki's look. It was grating at his nerves that no one seemed to consider him a threat anymore. He, who had once brought Kemet to its knees.

When Aaron walked back in, he looked livid.

"Yeah, Ishido says he wants to see you fight tonight, so that's that." He sighed and rubbed his face with his huge palm. He stared at Bakura, resigned. "How old are you?"

That was a good question.

His hikari had mentioned that eleven years had passed, so that would make him... Oh, _fuck_. How old had Ryou been before? He had been with Ryou ever since he was a child, but he never kept track of the years. By the time of his shadow RPG, Ryou had been... what? Seventeen? Eighteen? Twenty-three?

Aaron raised a questioning eyebrow.

"...I'm not sure," Bakura admitted.

"You gotta be kidding me..." he huffed. "Alright. Take off the rest of your clothes so I can weigh you."

He stripped and stepped on the scale that Aaron indicated.

"110 pounds..." Aaron murmured, looking more resigned than ever.

"Keep in mind he just ate two plates of chicken and rice," Enki pointed out.

"Yeah, well, that's the least of my worries." He stared at Bakura, lost in thought. "Alright, look. I have a fighter I could pair you with. You'll still be underweight, but it's the best I can do. He was supposed to fight next week, but... Oh, well."

He took his phone out and walked towards the exit. "Enki, find him something to wear. Something he can actually fight in."

* * *

Bakura was in the narrow shower, standing completely still as the blissfully hot water hit his skin. He hadn't been cold for the past few hours, but he hadn't been truly warm, either. Now he could feel the lingering cold seep out of his bones, washing the memory of the previous night from his body.

He placed both palms flat on the tiles that lined the wall and let his head drop with a long sigh. Water kept hitting the back of his head, making uneven white fringes droop in front of his eyes. Muscles he hadn't realized he was clenching started to unwind.

How long until those same muscles ended up sore and aching...?

His fight was scheduled to start soon. He had spent some time with Aaron who, after he found out that Bakura had never had any training in any of the known martial arts, had lit another cigarette, mumbling ' _fucking street brawler'_ under his breath. As Enki had said, no actual coaching came from Aaron. Just an explanation of the basic rules: no eye-gouging, no fish-hooks, what gestures meant that he gives up... And that was it. There would be no referee, nor timed rounds. The fights ended either with a knock-out, or with one of the two fighters surrendering.

They allowed Bakura to spend the day there. They said it was because he had nowhere else to go, but Bakura was under the impression that they just wanted to keep an eye on him. He did not even consider going back to the club upstairs, so he spent his hours in the changing room, lying on a bench and trying to get as much rest as possible. Enki almost never left him out of his sight - which was irritating - but never spoke, either - which was good. The idea of small talk made Bakura cringe, even though he had nothing better to do to pass the time.

He was relieved when they allowed him to take a shower. For one, he would get rid of the awful smell that clung to his skin and, more importantly, a shower meant a few moments of privacy. Enki was standing right outside but, for now, a door separated them and that was enough.

Bakura sighed again and the steam before his mouth swirled. He looked down, at the marks the Millennium Ring had left on his abdomen. All of this still seemed... impossible. Not only did he have a body, but Zorc was gone from his mind, too. For the first time in thousands of years, there was silence in his head.

There'd never been silence before.

There'd always been ninety-nine ghost mouths following him. Always urging him to go on, to not settle, to not stop until he avenged them.

Sometimes their voices had been furious, and it had felt like a storm raging inside his skull. Those had been the times when he could feel their rage burn hot in his own blood, mingling with his own, very-existing resentment. Those had been the times when he clenched his fists and promised to have his revenge on the Pharaoh, out loud, so that the Gods would listen and know that he was not afraid of their pampered son. Those had been the times when he, the bandit child, crowned king by a hundred ghosts, swore that he would pay back blood with blood and turn Kemet to cinders, just to have both Gods and mortals see what it felt like to lose their home.

Those had been the times when the ghosts' cries for vengeance roared like the fires that had once melted their bodies.

Sometimes, though, their voices had been nothing but whispers, like the caress of the wind over sleeping sand. They had consoled him, praised him, _him_ , their champion, their pride, the last of their blood. On and on their whispering would go, until it turned into a drone, never soothing enough to make up for the loneliness and the lost warmth, never real enough to make him feel his home and family was still there with him.

Soft and constant their murmurs had been, like desert breeze upsetting resting ashes.

He could not remember a moment of silence in his life.

It had not been silent in the Ring. Zorc's spirit had been raging and writhing. His whispers had been worse that the ghosts'. His voice had been a dark spell, entrancing him bit by bit. On and on and on, like poison hitting his skull, drop by drop, word by word, until there was no telling where he ended and where the darkness begun.

Hot water was hitting his head now, streaming down his body, dripping, hitting the tiles, swooshing down the drain. And, for the first time in eons, there was silence in his head.

No ghosts. No Zorc. No host.

Just him.

Him... If he subtracted the desire for revenge, the hate, the darkness, the anger... Who was he? What was left?

His self was lost somewhere in time. His soul was riddled with holes, no more than a rag. He was tired.

He curled and uncurled his fingers against the tiles. He watched the drops of water that made his skin glisten. Ryou's skin, pale and scarred. Ryou's body, thin and weak. But not Ryou's mind.

...How had this happened?

How had things come to this?

In a short while, he would have to step in the cage and fight. He would have to make use of this body as best as he could. He glanced at his forearms and his flat biceps. He could understand Aaron's skepticism, even his contempt. His body was laughable. He had insisted that he could fight, because _he_ could, but Ryou couldn't. That much was obvious.

Perhaps he'd been too sure of himself. Perhaps he'd bitten more than he could chew. He wondered what would fail him first: his muscles or his heart.

He shook his head and let it hang a bit lower. No point in thinking like that. He would fight, no matter what. He would not walk away, because that would mean he was giving up. And the King of Thieves _never_ gave up.

He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.

"You took your time," Enki grunted, handing him a towel.

Bakura did not respond, but accepted the towel and dried his skin and hair. He slipped into a pair of red fight-shorts, remaining sombre and silent.

The other fighters had started arriving; he could hear them talking in the adjacent changing rooms. Music was issuing from the main hall, along with a few muffled voices. Bakura retreated to the most shadowy corner of the room, with his back against the wall, and waited.

As time passed, the noise beyond the door grew louder, suggesting a crowd gathering. Some of the other fighters started walking in and out of the changing room, and Bakura observed them discreetly, trying not to show interest or curiosity. Most of these men were massive and had mastered the glance-at-me-and-you-are-dead look; half of them were heavily tattooed, or scarred, or both, and buzzed heads seemed to be the norm.

Despite his efforts to achieve just that, the yami's presence did not go unnoticed. He became the object of stares and several not-so-furtive remarks. Thankfully, no one tried to start a discussion with him, so he was able to continue doing his best to pretend he was ignoring them.

At some point the door opened and a wave of music and chattering rolled inside the changing room, along with a man with a clipboard. The door closed and all noise became distant and muffled once more.

The newcomer exchanged a few words with each fighter while scribbling at his clipboard until, eventually, he came to stand before Bakura.

"You, the white-haired one."

Bakura gave him a mildly bored look.

"Name?" the man said, pen hovering over a page.

"Bakura."

The man wrote that down and opened his mouth. Before he had the chance to utter his next question, the yami cut across him.

"Just Bakura."

The man frowned and scribbled on his paper. "Your ring nickname?" he asked then.

"What?"

The man looked up from his clipboard and it was his turn to look mildly bored. "How do you want me to introduce you to the audience? Are you going in to fight as Just Bakura or are you going to use a nickname?"

Bakura thought about it for a second. Perhaps keeping his identity a secret from the crowd was not such a bad idea. He had no papers or anything traceable, but he had a former host going by the same name.

Not that he cared if he dragged Ryou into trouble. Because he didn't.

But still.

He considered going out as the _Thief King_ , but such a title seemed too risky for a place like this. Better to lay low, give no information about himself. Attract no attention and then strike from the shadows: that was his way.

"...Diabound," he said at length.

The man wrote it down. "Alright. You're fighting last. You're paired with Kaito." Whoever that was.

He put the clipboard under his arm and left. Barely a minute passed and Aaron walked in. He stood in the middle of the small corridor, to make sure everyone in the changing room area heard him, and shouted, "Show's on in five, boys!"

Bakura soon realized that waiting was the worst part. Watching the other fighters walk past his changing room, hearing the door to the main hall open and the crowd roaring. An announcer's voice was booming through the speakers. The crowd's cheers and shouts were deafening in the confines of the underground hall.

Bakura tried not to listen. He clenched and unclenched his fists, staring at them; thin muscles were pulled tight and then loosened again. They looked so fragile.

The doubts that had crept into his mind while in the shower came back full-force. He tried to fight them away. He tried not to think at all, but his stomach still felt like being tied into a knot.

 _Stop this_ , he ordered himself. _You know how to fight_.

It didn't even matter that he wasn't fit. He hadn't been any fitter when he'd been eight years old and forced survive without a family or a home. He'd been a scrawny kid, armed with nothing but stubbornness and a refusal to give up.

Bakura chuckled deeply. History repeated itself, after all.

When Aaron called him, he stood up and stretched. He extended his hands and allowed Aaron to wrap what seemed to be red cotton tape all the way from his wrist to the base of his fingers. Once he was done, Bakura tried curling and uncurling his fingers. The wrap was tight enough to make his joints feel stable, but not so tight as to cut off circulation. It felt good, actually.

"You gonna do something about the hair?" Aaron asked.

Bakura shrugged. Hair had never been a point of concern for him.

Aaron just sighed and gave him a hairband, and Bakura deigned to pull his white hair back into a ponytail.

"Alright. Ready to go out there?" Aaron asked as he handed him a mouthguard.

Bakura just smirked.

How long since the last time he'd fought? How long since he'd danced between blades, fooled arrows, outran guards? So many years... So many. It had been a long while since the last time he'd used his own bare hands as a weapon. He'd grown too accustomed to solving his problems with shadow magic.

He placed the mouthguard against his teeth and gums. The sensation was unpleasant, but he guessed in was better than having a tooth knocked out. He left the changing room and walked outside.

The main hall was crowded, full of noise and smoke. All spotlights were shining on the ring in the center of the room, leaving the crowd in relative darkness; just a mass of shouting and squirming shadows. Bakura crossed the sea of people, following the path they had left open for him. Both cheering and booing was loud in his ears, comments that did not really mean anything to him, whistles, pats on the back. Cigarette smoke was creating mesmerizing shapes under the white lights.

He fixed his eyes on the ring that awaited him. He climbed the steps and one sound rose above all the rest. A name, called through the speakers: Diabound.

He stepped in the ring slowly, glancing at the link fence that surrounded him before his eyes returned to the floor. He walked the perimeter of the ring, sizing it up with his steps, familiarizing himself with its dimensions.

For the next minutes, these few square feet would be all he had. No way in or out, until either he or his opponent was down.

Just like a shadow game. Perhaps a bit different from the kind he was used to, but a shadow game nonetheless.

And he was good at games.

Another man stepped in the ring under loud cheering. He looked young, no more than nineteen years old. His lean body was toned and tattooed and his eyes were sparkling with the promise of violence. Bakura was vaguely aware of the announcer shouting something like 'Kaito The Shark' through the speakers.

The door of the ring closed, caging them in.

The sharp sound of a bell sliced the air.

His opponent was fast. He moved without hesitation, lunging at Bakura like a starved animal going for easy prey. Eager to attack - and easy to dodge.

The ring's floorboards vibrated under Bakura's feet as he moved. It was a supple surface, not as unforgiving as the sand had been. He danced around, relishing the speed of unobstructed steps.

A blow came, inevitably, right at Bakura's naked ribs. Pain registered, dully, distantly. He noticed the blur of a fist coming towards his jaw just in time to step out of the way. He back-stepped and swerved to avoid blows, his heart beating madly. He could hearing nothing past his blood rushing and his own harsh exhales.

Eventually his back hit one of the walls of the cage. His opponent rushed to corner him, his eyes wild and taunting, with a hint of triumph at their edges. Bakura managed to slither under the arms that tried to grapple him and jumped away. He made out shouts; tens of rough voices swelling to fill the air of the underground hall. They were probably shouting at him to stop fooling around and fight back. Or, perhaps, they were just cheering for his opponent. Either was equally unimportant to him.

He kept dancing around the ring and the first boos reached his ears. If the way he fought was annoying, all the better. It might even set his opponent on edge, and a frustrated opponent meant a less focused one.

The problem was that breathing was getting harder with each second that passed. It was becoming more and more obvious to him that his body was unfamiliar with such overexertion. His heart was was racing, trying frantically to keep up. He started panting, and the mouthguard only made things worse.

His opponent was not even slightly out of breath.

Bakura cursed inwardly and tried to focus on the fists that darted towards him. _Damn him_ , this Kaito guy was _fast_. Bakura's eyes flicked from fist to fist as he dodged, hoping that at least his reflexes would not fail him.

He never saw the knee that came for his stomach. His breath was knocked out of him violently. His body doubled over of its own accord and he staggered, vision momentarily darkened. His feet lost their lightness.

He blinked and the darkness acquired colors again.

Knuckles collided with his right cheekbone. The world tilted.

Bleary eyes searched for his opponent's limbs, spotted a fist coming for his jaw. His brain screamed at him to dodge, but his legs did not respond. He lifted his arms to protect his head and earned a kick in the ribs that threw him against the link fence of the cage.

Boos and jeers and his own grunts filled his ears. Kaito 'The Shark', now nothing more than a flesh-colored blur, closed in to finish him off.

Quick and acute like lightning, a memory flashed through his mind.

For barely a second, the crowd's noise was muffled. The glow of the spotlights turned into that of gold sun rays. Kaito 'The Shark' disappeared and a different man took his place: a guard, strong and tall, a lot taller than Bakura, holding a curved blade in his hands.

And Bakura was still almost doubled over, only his hands were smaller and drenched in something slick and hot. He was clutching at the right side of his face, which was nothing but darkness and shattering pain.

The blade gleamed in the sunlight, inviting whatever had remained of his eyesight to follow its movement. Bakura did not allow it to. He fixed his left eye on the guard's chest and willed his hands to let go of his bleeding face. He ducked to avoid the whizzing blade, left eye always at the center of the guard's torso. That little spot was his target: the small patch of flesh that hid his opponent's most important vital organ. He was determined not to let it off his gaze.

His hands flew to the hilt of his small knife. The guard's blade kept glinting in his peripheral vision and the instinct to look at it was strong. Too strong. Still, Bakura didn't. His target was the chest.

The next dodge came easily - so easily that his small heart filled with elation despite the stinging pain in his face. In the next second, the knife was out of its makeshift sheath and plunged to its hilt in its target. In his head, a choir of ghosts was chanting triumphantly.

Bakura blinked, with both eyes this time, and the vision of Egypt's sun was replaced by cold spotlights. What was flying towards him was not a blade, but a fist.

His eyes found his opponent's chest, and the next dodge came easily.

Of course. Eyes always on the chest, to keep all limbs withing sight. How could he have forgotten? He'd almost payed with his right eye to learn this lesson.

Magic had made him soft.

His opponent's chest was glistening with sweat, inked skin pulled taut over lean muscles. Limbs moved in the corners of Bakura's eyes, but this time he resisted the urge to glance at them. There was a dull burning in the places he's already been hit. Good. Let that act as a reminder and maybe help him stop acting like an amateur.

Bakura's feet were a tad too late to respond to his commands, but his opponent's movements were easier to trace. He still had a chance.

He clenched both his fists and his jaw and aimed for his opponent's less guarded spot. For the first time that night, he felt the satisfaction of knuckles hitting flesh. His other fist rose to meet the man's jaw but, before he was able to land the hit, another blow intensified the burning in his stomach.

 _Focus, you idiot_ , his brain hissed at himself.

He could see blows coming. He dodged one, two, three, and took the fourth squarely in the face. His skull rang. He recognized the taste of blood the moment it hit his tongue.

 _Keep moving_.

It was move or die; it'd always been move or die. His lungs were on fire. With his next step, the world swam dangerously.

 _No._ He couldn't stop. He couldn't stop moving.

Every muscle on his body was screaming. He'd never known that breathing could get so hard. No, that was not true; he must have known, once. Before the demon, before the magic, back when he'd just been Bakura. He must have known.

His limbs were heavy, slow. The limbs of someone else, a body he had no control on. A body that was not his own.

But... He could feel the pain, spreading through his torso with each breath. This pain was _his_. He took a blow, felt the blood running from his nose to his mouth, tasted it. The blood that was pumping his heart. His own heart. His own brain. He moved in the way only he knew, in the way he'd learned when he'd prowled around Kemet. Before he learned how to be a demon, he'd learned how to be a jackal, a cat, a snake.

His legs felt sluggish, but they'd always been like that when immersed in the sands of the desert. Dehydration and hunger had made his body unresponsive more than once, but he'd always pulled through, somehow.

He kept his elbows close to his ribs to guard them from an oncoming kick, and the impact sent a ripple through his bones. With his peripheral vision he saw the opening he'd been looking for and urged his arm to move. He crunched bruised abs, relaxed his protesting shoulder and twisted his body. He drove his fist at his opponent's right side, right under the dip of his ribs. Somehow, through the thundering of his pulse and the roars of the crowd and the ringing in his own skull, he made out a grunt.

The opponent's chest moved away. His blurry body curled in on itself. A moment's stillness.

The movement resumed, but the blows that came this time lacked their usual nerve. The other man's feet dragged.

Bakura dared lift his eyes. The fog in his vision was thick, the world was just shapes and fire, but he saw the other man blink. Stagger. Blink again, probably dazed.

Bakura gritted his teeth, lifted his arm. Brought his elbow down. He hit something solid and the blurry figure that was Kaito 'The Shark' hit the floor of the ring with a thud that traveled to Bakura's feet.

There was noise. So much noise.

Bakura kept looking at the prone figure, breathing through his mouth, breathing past his blood. His body was tense, ready to deliver another blow at the first hint of movement. The figure before him remained still.

He heard a familiar word. Diabound.

He looked around just in time to see the door of the cage opening. A man stepped in. Pushed Bakura aside. Knelt over the fallen man, said something indistinct.

The man stood up, caught Bakura's wrist. Shouted something and lifted Bakura's arm. Noise.

Hands led him off the ring, through the crowd, through a door. Then the noise was less, and the ringing in his ears was louder. He recognized the changing room he had spent his afternoon in. He spotted a bench. He walked to it and sat down; carefully, slowly, because everything was moving.

Fingers caught his shoulders, steadied him, and started prodding his face. They tilted his head back.

"Not broken," said a voice somewhere above his head.

Then there was a clap on his back that sent pain shooting through him.

"Easy," he croaked; the tiny sound scratched his throat.

Nobody seemed to have heard him. The voice above his head went on loudly.

"What a fight, son! You didn't look like you had it in you!"

Bakura closed his eyes because the light was too much for them and let his head drop forward. The movement made his stomach lurch and nausea hit him. He spat the mouthguard and took deep breaths.

Something fluffy and soft was pressed against his nose and mouth and another stream of words rattled around his skull. He reached for what he realized was a ball of cotton and held it in place with numb fingers. Pain hit him in waves, intensifying with each throb.

"...and then Ishido says he wants to talk to you."

He blinked and turned around. Aaron's face came into focus.

"Well, hello there," he chuckled when Bakura's eyes found him. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

It took Bakura half an hour to regain full control of his senses and be able to walk without sending the world into mad spinning. He took a shower, wincing as the water hit bruised muscles and cuts he hadn't realized were there. When he got out of the shower, he found a pile of clothes waiting for him: a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a black hoodie, a pair of underwear, warm socks. All clean; brand new, apparently. Everything fitting perfectly.

Once dressed, he walked to the large mirror to evaluate the bruising. When his eyes found their reflection, he froze. This was the first time he got a proper look at himself ever since his... rebirth. His eerily white skin was red and puffy in places, and his nose was gradually turning a shade of purple that looked as bad as it felt. He pushed his wet fringes out of the way and kept staring. Something was wrong, and he couldn't tell what.

He couldn't stop looking. He wished he could be able to say that this was Ryou looking at him so blankly, but it wasn't. There was no Ryou in this reflection. There was no Zorc, either. He couldn't recognize the person in the mirror.

The irises weren't brown like Ryou's. They were a deep, dirty red. Perhaps that was what was wrong; just the color of his eyes being a bit off. He kept staring, and suddenly it hit him.

This was him. Just him.

He was looking at himself for the first time in forever. The eyes that were blinking back at him were his eyes, and they had the color of earth mingled with blood. Just like his whole life.

He let the white fringes fall back into place and watched his mouth twist into a grimace. Yeah, this was definitely him.

"Oh, come on, it could be worse," Aaron's voice made him jump. He had forgotten he was watching him.

Bakura swallowed and tore his gaze away from the mirror. "Yeah..." he said. His voice was still hoarse.

"Come on, then, Ishido's waiting."

With the fights over for the night, the atmosphere in the main hall had changed. The crowd that had surrounded the ring had dispersed and had either gathered around the poker tables or sat on the small, plain ones to enjoy a drink and talk. The music was back on, just loud enough to cover most of the constant chatter.

Ishido was once more sitting at his private table, but the group around him was different. For the second time that day, Bakura climbed the few wide steps that brought him to Ishido's level, and waited.

The moment he spotted him, Ishido clapped his hands and flashed him a smile full of teeth.

"There he is!" he exclaimed. "And still walking! That's a lot more than I expected, really. You impressed me."

Bakura looked into those cool and definitely unimpressed eyes. He pressed his lips into a thin line to refrain from doing another, possibly disrespectful grimace, and immediately regretted it because his jaw hurt.

"Oh, don't be so sulky. Smile a bit. You won, after all!" Ishido said. For some reason, the two women that were sitting next to him giggled, even though he had not said something particularly funny.

"I did win," Bakura said. "What's next?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do I get paid for my next fight or what? And how much?"

Ishido's black eyes flashed. The pleasant smile did not leave his face. "Talking about business already? Rest a bit. Here, come have a drink."

"I'd prefer to make everything clear first, thanks," Bakura replied coldly.

He could not make out Ishido's low chuckles over the general din, but he saw his chest move.

"Alright, then. If you want to talk business, let's talk business." He straightened up, placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his intertwined fingers. "You fought... interestingly. Certainly brought a much needed breath of fresh air. Things had started getting... stagnant at fight nights. Your presence should liven things up a bit."

"That's good to hear."

"Still... Tonight's fight was a close call for you. Or, at least, that's what it looked like to those of us watching."

"...It was," Bakura admitted begrudgingly.

"Now, I can't guarantee you longevity at our fight nights. I mean, who knows how long until things get boring again and I'm forced to replace you?" He shrugged with exaggerated theatricality. "However, if you want to last more than a week, I'd suggest you train a bit."

That went without saying. It was one of Bakura's top priorities, anyway.

"So, how do things work with payment? Do I get payed after every fight?" the yami asked.

"Normally, yes. Aaron will explain the details."

"How much?"

Ishido's eyes narrowed by a fraction. "Thirty thousand yen a fight."

Bakura scoffed. "You expect me to get my lights repeatedly knocked out for thirty thousand?"

"That's the standard reward per fight. Nothing I can do about it."

 _Yeah, sure,_ Bakura sneered inwardly. _Nothing he can do in his own business._ Still, it might not be so bad an arrangement if he managed to hit two birds with one stone.

"I'm gonna need a place to stay, too," he said, closely watching Ishido for any indication that he'd just pushed his luck too far.

Surprisingly, Ishido grinned widely.

"Yes, I supposed so. I'm willing to help you with this issue. All the buildings in the block belong to me, and house both my businesses and my employees. I'm sure we can spare a room for you."

Bakura narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Sure, that was exactly what he'd been after, so he shouldn't complain, but... That'd been too easy.

The way he saw it, Ishido wasn't going to earn his trust anytime soon. Probably never.

"Alright," was all the yami said. "I guess it's settled, then."

"I guess it is."

Ishido lifted an arm and beckoned to someone who was standing out of sight. Sure enough, Enki approached; he had substituted the white t-shirt for a black and quite mournful button-up one.

"Oh, there you are. I wondered where you'd gone," Bakura said and rolled his eyes.

Enki did not reply at this blatantly sarcastic remark. He just stood before Ishido's table and bowed.

"Mr Bakura will stay with us," his boss informed him. "Please, help accommodate him upstairs."

"Yes, sir," Enki bowed again. He turned on his heel and murmured, "Let's go," to Bakura.

"Get some rest, Mr Bakura! You deserve it!" Ishido called, lifting his glass in a toast. Bakura simply let out an indistinct grunt and followed Enki.

They left the gambling den, crossed the underground corridor and climbed the stairs. This time, there was one more guard next to the trapdoor, and he greeted Enki with a nod. There was the muffled sound of loud music reverberating through the walls. Enki opened the door they had walked through earlier in the day - the door that led to the _Golden Egg_ club - and deafening music echoed in the corridor. To Bakura's horror, Enki motioned him inside.

The place that had been silent and eerily decadent during the day was completely different during the night. The shades of wood and crimson remained, intensified under the glow of red and golden lights. A much bigger crowd than the one downstairs was drinking, laughing, chattering, or simply watching the show: on the stage, a group of dancers were in the middle of a routine, wearing something that resembled half of a policeman's uniform. Scantily clad waiters and waitresses flashed charming smiles to the patrons as they handed out drinks. The music was so loud it made Bakura's bones rattle.

He stood on the threshold, overwhelmed by the noise and the multicolored lights that hit his retinas. He hadn't liked that place before, but it was even worse now. At least, he was glad the 'job' he had managed to land was quite different. Still... He watched a waitress sway her hips as she carried her tray around and he wondered whether this was actually worse than getting the living crap beaten out of him.

Enki leaned closer to Bakura's ear and spoke up to be heard over the commotion.

"Five minutes' break. I want a drink."

Bakura shrugged and followed him to the bar. "Are you supposed to drink while working?" he asked as he perched on a high stool.

"Depends on the night. Come on, have a drink, too." When Bakura raised an eyebrow, Enki went on, "It's on the house. You fought well."

"Whatever."

Enki ordered a vodka and Bakura asked for the same, if only because he had no idea what else to ask for. There were so many bottles lined up on the shelves, bearing liquids of so many different colors, that he wondered why the hell mortals had felt the need to create so many different types of alcohol.

The barman placed a short glass with a clear liquid in front of him. Bakura sniffed at its contents and immediately recoiled; his sore nose stung at the inhale.

Enki watched him, sipping from his own glass with a small amused smirk. Bakura decidedly brought his glass to his lips, simply because he did not like being made fun of, drank, and felt the fiery trail the alcohol left down his throat. Unlike the burning pain in his bruised body, this one was mostly warming. Kinda pleasant.

Enki took out a bag of tobacco, placed a filter tip on his lips and started rolling a cigarette. Bakura watched the movement of his fingers with curiosity.

"Do you smoke?" Enki asked him, moving his lips as little as possible to retain his hold on the filter tip.

"Err..." Bakura hesitated for the umpteenth time that day.

They did not have tobacco back in Egypt and he seriously doubted that Ryou had taken up the habit of smoking; the brat had always been such an uptight, rule-abiding goody two-shoes.

Enki finished rolling his cigarette and lit its tip. "Wanna try?" he asked.

Bakura blinked. Enki wasn't being exactly friendly - he had a casual and almost bored tone - but it was still a big difference from the silent sentinel he'd been all day. He held out the lit cigarette.

 _What the hell_ , Bakura thought. Apparently, this was the day of new experiences, so he might as well add one more to the list. So far, the food and the vodka had been nice.

He took the cigarette and held it between this thumb and index finger. He was probably holding it in a ridiculous way, because Enki chuckled.

Bakura frowned. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"Well, take a drag, then inhale deeply to send the smoke to your lungs. Although, I must warn you... Since it's your first time, you're probably not gonna like it."

"That's encouraging," Bakura said and placed the cigarette between his lips. He followed Enki's instructions, watched the tip of the cigarette glow red, and felt something hot and almost coarse hit the back of his throat. He inhaled and felt the burning reach his chest.

And then the world swam. All of his muscles, pained or not, sighed in relief. A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine, all the way to his toes, which curled of their own accord.

He exhaled, and realized he had closed his eyes.

Enki was chuckling. "I thought you didn't smoke."

"I thought so, too," Bakura replied gruffly.

He tried it again, just to make sure. The smoke felt like hot coals grazing his throat, but the numbness that spread to his limbs was blissful. He puffed out the smoke slowly, contemplating his body's surprisingly positive response. "Really, Ryou?" he murmured.

"Who?"

"Never mind," Bakura said and extended the cigarette back to Enki.

"Nah, keep it. You look like you could use it," he said and took out his tobacco bag to roll a new one for himself.

Bakura stayed silent for a while, and then mumbled an uncertain, "Thanks."

Enki shrugged. Bakura watched him roll a cigarette, more attentively this time. They did not speak again. They smoked and finished their drinks in silence, every now and then glancing at the dancers on the stage. Once they were done, Enki stood up and said, "Let's get going."

Bakura climbed down from his stool. He expected the alcohol to have affected his body to a considerable degree, but he found he was quite steady on his feet.

 _Really, Ryou?_ he thought again, frowning at his body.

They walked out of _The Golden Egg_ , leaving the headache-inducing noise behind them, and took a turn to a narrow wooden staircase that creaked ominously with each step.

"So, do you all live here?" Bakura asked.

"More or less. Not just here. Mr Ishido owns all the surrounding buildings."

"Does he live here, too?"

Enki scoffed. "Of course not."

Of course. How convenient. Keep them all in one place where he can watch them and have them at his beck and call at all times.

"What does Ishido _really_ do?" Bakura ventured to ask.

Enki let out a short laugh. "Everything."

That wasn't a very specific answer, but it was enough.

They climbed three floors and landed on a corridor lined with doors at both sides. It looked a lot like a hotel; a low budget one. As they walked the length of the corridor, one of the doors opened. A man walked out, hastily putting on his coat. A reasonably pretty girl appeared behind him, wrapped in a silk robe. She leaned against the frame of the door, thanked him and bid him goodnight in a sing-song voice. The man left, and the door closed.

"Are they allowed to do that?" Bakura asked, more unnerved than he would like to admit.

"They are allowed to do whatever they want in their free time, as long as they share part of their profits," Enki said impassively.

"...Lovely."

"Alright, here we are." Enki stopped in front of a door bearing the number _38_ on a rusty brass sign. He handed Bakura a small key. "All yours."

Bakura unlocked the door. The inside proved to be something like a very small flat. Nothing more than a bed, a narrow table, a small fridge and a bathroom. Just like the whole building, the place had not seem a renovation for at least fifty years. But it would do.

"Here," Enki said. He threw Bakura the bag of tobacco, the packet of filter tips, rolling paper and a cheap plastic lighter. When Bakura frowned at him, Enki made a nonchalant grimace. "There's not much left in it, anyway," he pointed at the tobacco bag. He turned around and took his leave without further farewells or wishes for a good night.

Bakura closed the door and looked at his flat. Well... 'Room' would be a more appropriate word for it. There was a single small window, which he opened to get rid of the faint smell of mould that lingered in the air. The late December's cold rushed in and he welcomed it. After being underground for so many hours, the outside air felt refreshing, no matter how cold.

He sat on his bed and tried to roll another cigarette, imitating Enki's gestures as best as he could. He completely messed up his first attempt, but he was quite pleased with the second one. He put it on his lips and went to light it, then paused. A brilliant idea crossed his mind.

He stood up, pocketed his lighter and his key and walked out of the room. He went back to the staircase and started climbing until he ended up on the roof.

Up there the cold was biting. Gushes of air ruffled his hair and crept under his hoodie; he made a mental note to 'obtain' a coat tomorrow. There were still pools of rainwater from last night's downpour, but he managed to find a relatively dry spot. He sat down cross-legged, wincing a bit at the sudden jolts of pain that traveled through his body.

The clouds had dispersed. Light-pollution obscured most of the stars, but he could still make out a few of the brighter ones. He let his head fall back, feeling his fringes dance in the breeze, and watched the small twinkling spots. He lit his cigarette, took a drag and felt the same relaxing numbness spread through him. He puffed out smoke and watched the shapes it created before being swept away by the wind.

His situation might not be ideal, but he certainly was much better off than he had been 24 hours ago. The fact remained that he had no clue as to _how_ or _why_ any of this had happened, but he couldn't bring himself to bother right now.

Right now he just smoked, his eyes flicking between the few visible stars and the city of Domino that spread before his feet. He smoked slowly, savoring the burning sensation, and listened: beyond the distant beat of music, beyond the honks of cars and the bustle from the streets below, beyond the hiss of the wind and the light sizzling of his cigarette, he could hear it.

Silence.

.

.

.

 ** _Disclaimer: Smoking is bad for your health. Never mind Bakura. D:_**

 ** _And a dedication! This chapter is dedicated to my best friend, Stamatis, who helped me come up with a few plot points by patiently listening to me rant for about an hour or so, and then just said, "How about cage-fighting?" And then epiphany struck me. And then this chapter was born._**

 ** _And it was quite a big chapter, wasn't it? I considered splitting it in two chapters, to keep their size more or less consistent, but then (to quote Bakura) I thought 'What the hell' and just posted it. For future reference, tell me what you prefer: a consistent size throughout all chapters, or the bigger-the better?_**

 ** _And another disclaimer, regarding Bakura's fight in the ring: I know that a non-physically-fit 29-year-old would never be able to compete with a fit 19-year-old but... Bakura managed to nail a punch to the liver, and that's a nasty punch. It's almost impossible to stay standing after that. Plus, he has a writer that loves him. So that's that. XD_**

 ** _HUGE THANK YOU's to everyone who has commented so far! You guys make writing this fic an amazing experience! ^^_**

 ** _As always, feedback is much, MUCH appreciated! How about we spread a bit more Yu-Gi-Oh love?  
Review? :D_**


	9. Stay

**Chapter 9: Stay**

Yuugi woke up slowly, sluggishly, and with a vague impression of worry. His disorientation grew when he realized his room was dark. He searched for his phone blindly, wondering why the alarm hadn't gone off. Had he not gone to work that morning? Or was it just too early to start getting ready?

He found his phone and tapped the screen. The digital clock read _18:37._

He stared at the white numbers uncomprehendingly. Then his brain kicked into gear and eradicated the last remnants of sleep. Of course. He had not gone to work that day; he had called in sick. Because Atem was back.

He fell back to his pillows with a heavy sigh and fixed his eyes to the ceiling.

Yes, Atem was back. Somebody else might have pinched themselves to make sure that this wasn't a dream but, in his case, Yuugi did not need to. The sinking feeling in his stomach was way too real. So was the scratchiness in his eyes and throat.

Atem was back. The rest of his friends had come over, they had talked and mused and fussed over some book... and then Yuugi had yelled at his yami. And he had cried. And after he was done with all the yelling and crying, he had taken a nap.

He groaned and pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets until stars popped in the darkness. He had acted like an idiot. An idiot who could not reign over his feelings. He had promised himself that he would not trouble Atem on his first day back, he had been determined not to say a thing... and then he'd went and spilled the beans anyway - and in the worst way possible.

He lowered his hands and looked outside the window. The lights of the city blinked back at him. It had been sometime around noon when Atem had insisted that his hikari took some rest. Yuugi had agreed to lie down for a bit, but he hadn't expected to actually fall asleep. And for six hours straight, no less.

With this thought, his eyes went wide and he threw the covers off of himself. He had left Atem alone for the whole afternoon! An ancient spirit, back from the dead, in a world that he more or less had no clue about - and Yuugi had left him alone.

Some host he was.

He stood up and made for the door of his bedroom but, the moment his fingertips touched the knob, he stopped. Shame flooded him. Opening that door meant facing Atem, and... He was not sure he could do it after all the things he'd said to him. He wasn't sure what he was going to say. Was there anything he could say to make this better? The things he'd shouted in his face had been hurtful and bitter... and true. Still, despite them being true, they shouldn't have been made known like this. Not through tears and screaming in a day that should be dedicated to celebration.

In all honesty, he hadn't expected to lose his calm like that. Just when he'd expected himself to be at his happiest and strongest, Yuugi had simply been lost. Confused by his own reactions, his own emotions. Atem had once taught him how to find and hold on to his inner strength, and then his reappearance had brought everything down in a mess of indistinguishable feelings.

As for Atem himself, he had withstood the attack of Yuugi's hard words with stoicism. He had let him lash out and then he had hugged him. He had held Yuugi until he'd calmed down and then insisted that he got some rest, because he needed it. He'd asked for nothing. He had stood strong and reliable as ever, like the eternal stones of the land that had given birth to him. A true king, through and through.

Yuugi's shame was so intense that his fingers slipped from the doorknob. He shut his eyes tightly.

He guessed he should apologize, but... How? No apology seemed enough. No words came to him. How could he even begin to explain the mess that his feelings were? How could he really admit to the hope and the disgusting jealousy that clashed in him since yesterday? Anzu had asked him for another chance just before Atem reappeared and Yuugi did not know whether he should be happy, or angry, or place blame, or...

He sighed. Was it supposed to be this hard...? All these years, he had spent so much time daydreaming about what it would be like if Atem was there: of the things he'd say to him, the places he'd show him, the experiences he'd share. He'd dedicated part of every major event of his life to him.

He remembered the day he graduated from high school. He'd given the graduation speech and he'd proudly wore the choker on which the Millennium Puzzle had rested for years. He had fiddled with it anxiously before stepping on the podium but, once the time to speak had arrived, he'd felt calm and certain in a way that had reminded him of his other self. After finishing the speech, he had gone backstage, leaned with his back against a wall and smiled in the darkness, whispering, "I did it, Atem. One more adventure is over."

After he'd first kissed Anzu, he'd reached out to this part in his soul that lay vacant and silent and had tried to convey his joy to the emptiness, hoping that somehow his feelings would be strong enough to reach Atem and let him know that he was fine. He had been so happy that he had actually felt he could surpass the obstacles of time, space and dimensions.

When Anzu left for America, he'd found himself once more with his back against the wall of a dark room. That time around, the void in his soul had doubled and he'd been too scared to probe the emptiness.

The day he got married he had looked into the mirror to straighten his bow tie, chuckled quietly and murmured, "I had to loose the choker for today, old friend."

And the day his grandfather had died, Yuugi had whispered, "Take care of him, other me."

As for the day Anzu had asked for a divorce... That had been the only time he hadn't wished for Atem to be there. He'd been so furious with the void in his soul - that ugly, double void - that he'd tried to board it up and forget about it. For the first time, he'd been angry, so angry-

No point in scratching that wound again. He should focus on apologizing, nothing else. It was stupid to dwell on this stuff now. Now Atem was there, and he had some serious making up to do.

He braced himself, turned the doorknob and finally walked out of his bedroom.

The whole apartment was plunged in darkness, much like his room had been. Which was weird. Atem had learned enough about the modern world while living through him, so he should have been able to turn on the lights.

An awful suspicion flashed through his mind, and suspicion brought panic. He almost ran to the living room. He crashed against furniture and stumbled on carpets, all the while trying to fight the sickening feeling in his stomach. Surely Atem hadn't left... He couldn't have. Or did Yuugi offend him so much that he decided to go? To abandon him, just when he'd found him again...? He couldn't have; couldn't, couldn't, couldn't-

Yuugi's heart returned to its rightful place when he noticed the dark mass that lay huddled on the couch. Atem was there, sleeping.

Still there. Just sleeping.

Yuugi's relief was so great that he visibly deflated. He stood before the couch, with his heart thrumming so hard against his ribs he thought he could hear its echo in the quiet apartment. He huffed and rubbed the back of his head. Confused or not, he did not like the thought of Atem leaving. He did not like it one bit.

He knelt down before the couch and squinted to make out his yami's face. His hikari's panic hadn't disturbed him; his face was calm and he was breathing serenely through parted lips. Even in the dark, and even when asleep, he managed to make the blond tufts around his forehead seem like a crown.

 _He is still here,_ Yuugi repeated to himself with a relieved smile. He hesitated for a few more seconds before reaching out to touch his yami's shoulder and shake him lightly.

"Atem?"

The yami stirred and his eyes fluttered open. His hazy gaze swept the dark room once before settling on Yuugi.

"Aibou...?" he mumbled, voice somewhat rough.

"Hey," Yuugi smiled. "Sorry to wake you up."

"No, no, not at all..." Atem sat up and straightened his back. He looked around again. "It's so dark. What time is it?"

"Oh, it's not that late." Yuugi got to his feet and hurried to hit the switch. Light flooded the room, causing Atem to flinch a bit and rub his eyes. "Sorry," Yuugi chuckled.

"No, no, do not apologize. I did not mean to fall asleep, anyway."

"Oh... About that," Yuugi mumbled and looked at his toes. "Sorry for leaving you alone for so long. You must have been bored out of your-"

"Aibou," Atem cut across him in soft, reassuring tones. Yuugi lifted his eyes and met Atem's crimson ones. "I was fine. Don't worry."

Right. Not worry. Easier said than done.

Yuugi sighed and plopped down next to him; the leather cushions creaked. He was determined to apologize but his throat felt all closed up. He guessed it would be easier in he didn't look directly in Atem's brilliant red eyes, so he clasped his hands and stared at them. He cleared his throat.

"Look, Atem, I... I wanted to apologize... for my behavior... before."

"Aibou-"

"No," Yuugi cut across him before he could reassure him, before he could tell him that it was okay. "It's not okay. I was horrible to you, and I... I'm sorry."

The word came out of him sounding like a plea. It floated in the air for a while, making Yuugi feel desperately weak and stupid. He clasped and unclasped his hands with the nervousness of a defendant waiting for the verdict. It did not come at once; there was silence in Atem's part, and then a small sigh.

"Aibou... What you said before was true, wasn't it? About Anzu... And all that happened between you. Right?"

He was aware that Atem was looking at him intently, but he kept his gaze downcast. "Yes... It was, but-"

"Then you should not apologize for telling the truth."

This time Yuugi did lift his eyes to give Atem a despondent look. "I shouldn't have yelled like that. I shouldn't have said it as if... as if I was blaming you, or-"

"Yuugi," Atem murmured, and the way he said his name made something in his chest clench slightly, "...you are glad that I'm here, aren't you?" A hint of anxiousness crumpled the lines of the yami's otherwise calm face.

"Yes!" Yuugi cried and sat up straighter. "Yes, I am! I can't even describe how happy I am - and, before, when I woke up and I saw that the apartment was dark, I thought you were gone and I was scared out of my wits, I couldn't-"

"Then it's okay." Atem smiled and placed a light palm on Yuugi's knee - which, instead of calming him, made him tense up even more. "If you're happy, then that's all I need."

"But I-"

"You were under stress. It is understandable. A lot has happened. But if you want me here... We will work the rest of it out."

His voice was wonderfully reassuring and his smile was soft and full of affection, but something sad lingered in his eyes. Something guarded and unsure, as if he expected Yuugi to crack again and admit that no, he did not want him there - that no, he was not happy nor content and he'd rather go on with his life without ancient pharaohs claiming part of it. It did not suit him, this fear. Seeing it ripple under his powerful exterior was like hearing flat notes in a familiar tune. It simply felt _wrong_.

Yuugi took Atem's hand off his knee and held it with both his own.

"Atem, you being here is the most wonderful thing that has happened to me in years," he said fervently, squeezing his hand to emphasize his words. "I know I did not look like it, and I essentially ruined your first day back, but..." He sighed deeply. "I'm so glad you are here. Believe me."

Atem nodded. His hand twitched in Yuugi's grasp, not in an effort to release itself, but to settle more comfortably between Yuugi's palms. Or, at least, that was what it seemed to Yuugi. Then it occurred to him that perhaps he'd held on Atem's hand for way too long. Instead of distant and spiteful, now he was being clingy and whiny, and he was not sure whether this qualified as an improvement. He blushed in embarrassment and released Atem's hand a little too hastily.

He cleared his throat and straightened his back. He did not really feel like he had made up. So far, their evening still sucked and he suspected it would keep sucking unless he did something to change the gloomy mood. Everything in the apartment seemed heavy and stuffy. Perhaps they should get out; go for a walk, get some fresh air.

"Are you hungry?"

Atem frowned in confusion at the sudden change of subject, but he replied quickly. "Yes, quite a bit."

"Okay, here's an idea: how about we go for a walk and grab something nice to eat?"

"Sounds great."

"Good," Yuugi said brightly and shot to his feet. "Then I'll go get ready. And I'll bring you a coat!"

He jogged to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. The moment the lock clicked, his bright expression was replaced by one of relief. He placed a hand on either side of the marble sink, let his head drop, and sighed.

It had gone better than what he'd expected. Of course it had. Atem had been great, as always.

He allowed himself a small smile. Perhaps everything would indeed get to be alright. Perhaps he would get to have Atem in his life for a while. Or forever.

The moment this small word - _forever_ \- crossed his mind, his chest was crushed under the weight of such warmth and happiness that he felt he couldn't breathe. The idea of Atem staying forever... it was almost too much to bear.

He took a deep breath in. He let it out.

He really shouldn't get his hopes up like this. At least, not until they knew more about the reason the spirits were back. They knew next to nothing about the Millennium Spellbook and its possible involvement in Atem's return. No. He should remain calm and patient because, if he got his hopes all up and then Atem left again, it would hurt too much - even more than Anzu-

No, no, _don't go there_. He wouldn't think about Anzu now. For a few hours, he had to keep her out of his mind. Now was the time to make up to his friend, and he wouldn't be able to do that if he kept thinking about her.

However, if Atem stayed forever, Anzu would eventually find out and then-

 _No, no, no, no._ _Stop it,_ he commanded himself.

He ran a hand over his face. He really needed some fresh air.

He lifted his head to look in the mirror. Puffy eyes and wild hair greeted him. A few tufts remained tangled in his hairband, messed up by sleep, and _gosh_ , he looked tired.

He untangled the hairband and grabbed a brush. Halfway through tying his hair back up in a ponytail, he changed his mind. He brushed his hair with his fingers, ruffled them a bit, and... stared. His tufts, loyal to their natural disposition, had settled in the way they preferred: sticking out in all directions. If only the blond ones were still there, he would look just like his old self. Except... more tired and stuff. But still. It was comforting to know that his self was still in there somewhere. It made him feel as if things could go back to being alright.

Perhaps he shouldn't have changed his hair. Or perhaps he should change it back, work be damned.

...Well, if he was being completely honest with himself, his work had not been the only reason. After everything, after Anzu and her words, he had craved for a change; looking in the mirror had been too hard. However, this had been something he didn't feel like admitting to the others. 'Work' had seemed an acceptable enough excuse, so he'd went for it.

Anyway. Looking a bit like his old self did not sound so bad right now, so he put both the brush and the hairband down, glanced in the mirror one last time and walked out of the bathroom. He went to his bedroom, grabbed two coats and an extra pair of shoes and returned to the living room.

He'd lie if he said he didn't enjoy the way Atem's face lit up when he saw him. Yuugi chuckled and twirled a strand of hair on his finger. "Does this look better?"

"A lot better, aibou," Atem smiled. He did not say it, but Yuugi read the rest of his sentence in his eyes: _you look like yourself again_. To this, Yuugi would answer that no, not yet, but he was getting there.

"Let's get going, then. I'm starving."

They put on coats, scarves and shoes and left the apartment. The moment they walked out of the building, the sharp cold of December bit them. The clouds of the previous day were gone, leaving the sky clear and the cold all the more intense for it.

"Damn it, I did not think about gloves," Yuugi groaned. "Wait here, Atem, I'll run and bring you a pair-"

"No, it's alright, aibou."

"Are you sure?"

Atem stretched out his hand in front of him. He clenched and unclenched his fist, splaying his fingers. "It's good to be able to feel the cold," he said with a small grin.

"Oh... I'm glad you see it this way," Yuugi said, stuffing his own hands in the pockets of his coat. His breaths came out in small, wispy clouds and the cold stung at his nose, but Atem seemed really pleased with it. He was breathing in and out, looking at the puffs his breath created with childlike amusement. Yuugi couldn't help but smile, too.

"Come on, let's go." He nudged Atem with his elbow and started walking down the street.

"Where are we going?"

"There's this place, not far from here. it's not fancy, but they make the best ramen in town."

Cars rushed past them and there were honks in the distance. Domino's familiar neon signs glowed in the night, hiding all but a couple of stars. The few people that walked along the sidewalk went by in a hurry, eager to leave the cold streets. Atem was watching everything with a faint smile fixed on his face. It seemed unreal but there he was, an ancient king walking the streets of a modern city, his breath leaving white traces in the night. Yuugi wondered whether he would ever get used to it. He guessed he wouldn't.

Every now and then Atem glanced at him, at which point Yuugi realized that he was staring and looked away hastily. But no matter how many times he averted his gaze, his eyes found Atem's profile again, drinking in the sight with lingering disbelief.

"Oh, I remember this place!" Atem exclaimed, pointing at a small store at the other side of the road.

Yuugi squinted to make out the sign and then laughed. "Yup. This is where I had my Nintendo fixed."

"Twice," Atem pointed out.

"Hey, it's not my fault I dropped it down the stairs! Grandpa scared me!"

"You could have paused the game and climb down those steps more carefully."

"That's not it. Grandpa scared me," Yuugi insisted with a pout. "Besides, it was the new Zelda game! I couldn't just-"

"Stop playing? Yeah, I remember."

Yuugi tackled Atem with his shoulder. "Oh, come on, don't judge me! You liked that game as much as I did!"

"All I'm saying is that if you did not keep playing while walking down the stairs or, say, taking a shower, you wouldn't have to fix your Nintendo... Twice." Τhey both laughed: Yuugi more openly and heartily, Atem with deep chuckles issuing from the back of his throat.

This was good. It was familiar and comfortable and Yuugi was... happy. It was the sound of his own laughter that helped him realize that. He hadn't laughed like this in while. It was as if the muscles of his face woke up all of a sudden and then proceeded to wake up the rest of his body.

In the ten minutes that it took them to reach the restaurant Yuugi had in mind, Atem kept pointing excitedly at every familiar place they came across. When the red sign that read _Akai Doa_ came into view, Yuugi grabbed Atem's sleeve and led him across the road. The stood outside a truly petite restaurant and peered inside through the glass front. Most of the customers were in the line before the counter, opting for takeout instead of sitting in one of the few tables that were crammed in the small interior. Behind the counter, the kitchen was alive with movement, steam and erupting tongues of flame.

Yuugi hesitated. This was one of his favorite restaurants and the food was exceedingly good, but suddenly he worried whether this was too small for a pharaoh, too dark, too crowded...

"I know it doesn't look like much..." he murmured apologetically, but Atem shook his head.

"It's great. Very... Domino. Just what I'd like for my first day back." He didn't know if Atem really meant it or if he was being nice for his sake but, either way, Yuugi was glad.

When they pushed the door open, heat and a thousand smells hit their faces. They inhaled deeply; the hot, delicious air soothed their frozen noses and made their mouths water. They walked to a bench that stood by the glass front, where they would have a wide, unobstructed view of the street and the sidewalk outside. They took off their coats and sat on tall stools across from each other.

It was a self-service restaurant, so Yuugi left to go and stand in the line before the counter. He returned a good fifteen minutes later, carrying two paper bowls of steaming _Akai Doa special._ He placed one bowl in front of Atem, kept the other for him and climbed on his stool.

"It smells good," Atem said with a smile.

"I know," Yuugi said dreamily, breathing in the scent of his own bowl. "Do you remember how to use the chopsticks?"

"I think so."

For a few minutes there was silence between them as they dug in their food. Yuugi kept a close eye on Atem's reactions, still a bit anxious about whether he'd like the meal. When Atem hummed in contentment, Yuugi smiled.

"Is it good?"

"It's delicious!"

Yuugi grinned widely and attacked his own bowl.

The world around them was in constant motion as cars drove by, lights blinked and people walked in and out of the shop. Even though he didn't stop eating, Atem's eyes seemed intent on capturing every movement and every little detail. He looked around with the fascination of a child, occasionally glancing back at his food or at Yuugi - something which made his hikari wonder whether Atem also felt the need to constantly make sure that all of this was real. Maybe. Probably.

It was weird seeing him in such a mundane environment. In Yuugi's mind, Atem was always surrounded by gold and sun. He'd been unreachable and bright, a mythical creature, older than the oldest of legends and just as elusive. Yet there he was, this son of the Sun God, sitting in the shadows of a small shop with colored lights reflecting off his crimson irises, holding a steaming paper bowl. And smiling. At Yuugi.

Who was staring again.

He lowered his head hastily and looked at his food. "You'd better eat it while it's warm," he said, just to say something.

" _I_ am eating. _You_ are not," Atem said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Yeah..." Yuugi chuckled awkwardly. "I guess I'm still in a bit of a shock."

"Over my return?"

"Yes! I mean..." He laughed a bit and shrugged. "It is still so... Unreal. I think I'll never get used to looking at you."

Atem let out one of his deep, velvety chuckles. "I know. I feel that way, too."

Yuugi stole an upwards glance. Something in the way Atem had said that made his heart swell with happiness and, simultaneously, ache a bit. He laughed it off.

"Oh, come on. It's not the same. You were the one that was... elsewhere. I've always been real."

"Not to me," Atem replied. "To me, seeing you feels just as unreal."

Yuugi thought that perhaps his ramen was too spicy because he could feel his cheeks heat up. He should probably let it cool down a bit.

"You really can't remember a thing from the afterlife?" he asked hastily, not quite able to put his finger on why he felt the urgent need to change the subject.

Atem shook his head. "I told you, I remember... a sort of peaceful feeling. The way you feel after seeing a nice dream, even if you can't remember what the dream was."

"Sounds good, though."

"Not as good as being here."

Yuugi felt Atem's gaze was too intense to hold it, so he looked at his bowl instead. He played around with a mushroom as he mumbled, "So... you really wanted to... return?"

Atem remained silent long enough for Yuugi to glance up and see the thoughtful frown that had taken over his face.

"I can't remember consciously wishing to return while I was in the afterlife. I can't remember anything. But I'm definitely happy now that I'm back. And... I admit I did wish I could stay... Back when I was in the Puzzle."

The floor under Yuugi might as well have disappeared. Something inside him dropped a few inches, and then kept dropping, and dropping... His hands went numb and one of his chopsticks slipped from his fingers and clattered on the bench. He blinked and replayed the last sentence in his head.

 _I did wish I could stay..._

"What?" was all he managed to breathe.

He stared at Atem, waiting for a confirmation of what he'd thought he had heard. The yami stared back, his face serious and set. Instead of repeating what he'd said, he just nodded once, slowly.

"B-But..." Yuugi stammered, his mind reeling years back, trying frantically to pick up clues from his memories. "I don't understand. You wanted to find your name so badly. You tried so hard to regain your memories. We all tried so hard to send you back to the afterlife!"

The yami shuffled in his seat. He had stopped eating, too.

"I know," he said in a low voice, barely audible over the bustle of the little restaurant. "I wanted to know who I am. But I could also see that... I did not belong here. It was not my time. It was not my life. It was yours. I could not keep living as a parasite within you."

"You were never a-"

"I was," Atem said firmly. "I enjoyed living with you, I really did. And I... I wanted it to last. I wanted to stay and live. But during Battle City I came to understand that I couldn't. I would never find peace this way."

Yuugi stared, aghast. "You never said anything!" he said, voice taking a bit of a high-pitched edge. "I wouldn't mind sharing! I wouldn't mind keeping the Puzzle and-"

"I know you wouldn't. But I could never accept that. It would be selfish on my part. You had to have your life. You had to have your own story." A sad smile stretched Atem's lips, in perfect harmony with the sadness in his eyes.

"My own story," Yuugi echoed; Anzu's voice ringed in his head, followed by the slam of a door. _You are nothing like him_.

He shut his eyes firmly. Not now. Now was not the time to think about this.

Because what Atem was saying was... inconceivable.

 _I did wish I could stay..._

Stay. He had wanted to stay. He had tried to regain his memories not because he wanted to leave, but because he had to.

He realized Atem was talking again just in time to catch him saying: "...you've built your own life, and I'm so proud of you. You could never have done that with me here."

Yuugi shook his head. He did not look at his yami. He did not think he could. All he could do was keep thinking that this could have all been different, all of it, all-

"You should have said something. We could have discussed this," he said through gritted teeth.

"It wouldn't be fair-"

Yuugi slammed his palm on the table. "Who cares about fair? You would have been here!" he almost shouted. His hand trembled against the wooden bench.

Atem's sharp eyebrows knitted together. "Listen to me, aibou. It wouldn't have been fair to _you_ -"

"Well, it wasn't fair to you, either! You didn't get to live once!"

"I did get to-"

"Oh, yeah? How old were you when you sacrificed yourself to save the rest of the world?" Yuugi asked, even though he knew the answer.

Atem swallowed. "Sixteen," he grumbled. "But, aibou, that's not the point."

"But it is!" Yuugi said desperately. "I would have gladly shared! You deserved to live, you-"

He stopped. The vision of a life where Atem had never left overwhelmed him and he couldn't go on. How different would his life have been? He wouldn't have known loneliness. He would never have had to whisper to the darkness, with his back against a wall and his thoughts away from this world. He would have never needed to learn how to cope with an empty spot in his soul. He would probably had never married Anzu, either, because she would have surely chosen Atem. How would that feel like...? Giving over his body to let him go on dates with her, to let him kiss her...?

Pain pierced his heart like an arrow. No, it wouldn't have been easy. But did it matter? He didn't get to keep Anzu either way, but he would have gotten to keep his best friend.

He was startled out of his thoughts when something touched his leg. It took him a while to realize that Atem was nudging him gently with his foot. He lifted his eyes and met crimson concerned ones.

"I've made you angry, aibou."

Yuugi blinked and deflated with a heavy sigh.

"I'm not angry. Exasperated, perhaps. I... I helped you regain your memories because I believed that it was the one thing that would make you happy."

The light pressure from Atem's foot against his leg was lifted, and Yuugi felt all the more empty and cold for it.

"It did make me happy. I _had_ to know who I was, aibou. And I think... None of us would have been happy, had I stayed."

Yuugi let out a sharp, bitter laugh that made Atem frown. He leaned forward a bit and Yuugi momentarily believed that he would grab his hand, but he didn't; he merely kept talking in a soft voice. "It's different now, though. I have my own body. And this time I know who I am. I am me, you are you, and... It's different."

Yuugi looked at him unhappily. His food was growing cold before him, forgotten.

The little word that had scared him when he was leaning over the sink in his bathroom came back to him with renewed fervor. _Forever_. The chance of Atem staying, _forever_. His chest was crushed again under the immense weight of too many feelings, but he managed to make out a dominating one: hope. He pressed his lips together and felt his expression hardening in determination.

"You are right. It _is_ different. And you know why? Because this time we should make sure you stay."

Atem stared in troubled silence for a few seconds. The door of the shop opened and closed, sending in a chilly wave of air that got quickly stifled by the fragrant heat. A car drove by and its lights hit Atem's face, hardening the bewildered lines and then letting the shadows muffle them again.

"What do you mean? How...?"

Yuugi sat up straighter and squeezed his fists. "I mean that if you really want to stay, this time I will do whatever I can to make sure you do. I can't lose you a second time. Not after-" A thickness settled in his throat and he felt a little embarrassed for it, so he stopped talking. _Not after Grandpa. Not after Anzu._ He didn't say it out loud, but he knew Atem understood.

He swallowed the thickness and went on. "I look at you and I fear that, every time I blink, you'll disappear just the way you appeared. If you _want_ to go, then that's okay, I guess, but... If you want to stay, I'll do everything in my power to make that happen. I will. But you'll have to tell me this time. Don't hide it. Don't think about fair. Just say it."

Atem's eyes were fixed on him, oddly sparkling. His face was frozen in an expression of... incredulity? Hope?

...Pain?

Yuugi did not wait for Atem to do it; he reached out and grabbed his yami's hand. It was cold, so he squeezed it. Colors shimmered in Atem's eyes; water and light, like a rainy night in Domino.

The yami opened his mouth. Froze. Closed his mouth and swallowed. When he spoke his voice was thick and gruff in a way that Yuugi did not remember ever hearing it. "We don't know why I'm back this time, aibou."

Yuugi shook his head. "I don't care."

"But... There's probably a reason. A mission. And if there is, when that mission is over, most likely I will-"

Yuugi did not want to hear it, so he squeezed Atem's hand hard enough to make him stop.

"Then we ignore the mission."

"...We can't, aibou." Now there was definitely pain etched on Atem's face.

"Yes, we can. Fuck the mission. Yeah, I said it," he added when Atem's face twitched at the vulgar display of language. "I'm not a kid anymore. I don't have to save the world. It's not _my_ responsibility. I can finally decide what do to and what not to do, and-"

"We both know you are not that selfish. You are a lot more selfless than I am, actually. And we both know that, if the stakes are high, you won't be able to just sit by and let the world burn." The shimmering was gone from the yami's eyes but the pain was still there, mixed with adoration, pride and gratitude.

Yes, Yuugi knew that Atem was right. And, in that moment, he hated himself for not being able to say _f_ _uck the mission_ and actually mean it.

"Still, we don't know if there even _is_ a mission," he said with the hopelessness of someone grasping at straws.

Slowly, Atem freed his hand and withdrew it. "What are the chances?"

"We can't know for sure."

"For starters, there is the Spellbook."

"That could be a coincidence," Yuugi said stubbornly.

Atem arched an eyebrow. "Do you really believe that?"

"I believe that, no matter what, we'll find a way to make you stay. If you really want to." He uttered the last sentence with more aggressiveness than he probably had to, making it clear that he demanded an answer.

Atem recoiled. "How can I...?"

"Just say it," Yuugi said, some part of him pleading. "Say it, and I'll do it."

"There are things bigger than me, aibou. Bigger than us both. And if I have to-"

"No _'have to'_ ," Yuugi moaned. He let his head fall in his hands. "For once, no _'have to'_." He sounded like a child, he knew, but frustration and fear were building up in him, threatening to stifle the hope, and he needed something to grab on. A goal. A definite one.

Why wouldn't Atem just say it? A few words, and Yuugi would have his goal.

But he already knew the answer to that question. Atem was trying not to be selfish. He was raised like a king. He had learned to put the greater good above his own wishes. He probably wanted to stay, but he would never admit to it out loud; not until he made sure that him voicing his desire would not condemn anyone else. Just like the last time.

Yuugi dropped his hands and looked up. Atem's face was just the sight he expected: pain mingled with hope. A clash between desire and duty.

"We'll find a way, _mou hitori no boku_ ," Yuugi said with conviction. "We will. But this time I need you to be honest. You don't have to hide things from me. And I promise... We will find a way."

He could see how hard Atem fought to keep himself from looking too hopeful and the ache in his heart intensified. His yami deserved this second chance; he deserved a life.

Atem fiddled with the edge of his paper bowl, and it was weird seeing him, the king of kings, fidget like that. When he spoke, his voice was a murmur. "Then, aibou... I have to ask for something, too."

Yuugi frowned, taken aback. "Of course."

Atem stopped fidgeting and looked up, his gaze sharp and determined. "I want you to be honest, too. About everything. Don't hide things from me, like earlier. I don't want you holding things in until you can no longer take it just because I'm here. I _need_ to know whether my presence is good for you... or bad."

Yuugi swallowed. He knew what he was asking was only fair. Honesty went both ways; or, at least, so it should.

"Okay," he said in a small voice. "Alright. Deal."

Atem nodded once. His shoulders relaxed along with his expression. He lowered his head a bit; a few golden tufts caught the movement and fell in front of his eyes. "I am happy to be here," he said quietly, as if afraid of being overheard.

He still hadn't stated whether he wanted to stay, but it was a start. A good first step. "Good," Yuugi said. "Me too."

One side of Atem's lips curled upwards and it was as if a sun ray broke through the clouds.

It was a good first step.

.

.

.

.

.

 ** _Author's note: Hey! I'm back_ _, and the bois are back - now with extra fluff!  
I know it was not much, especially after the long wait, but... Consider it a good first step. Or simply a first step. Or something to get the ball rolling again._**

 ** _As always, thank you for reading and supporting this story - and encouraging its writer with your comments and favs and follows. It means a lot! *hugs you all*_**

 ** _If you enjoyed this chapter, or simply want to talk about it, let me know by hitting that beautiful review button!_**

 ** _Until next time, take care everybody :D_**


	10. Card games and bar counters

**Chapter 10: Card games and bar counters**

Atem did not expect to have such a good time.

After everything that had been said that day he did not think he would get to relax, let alone have fun. And yet, the walk back to Yuugi's apartment proved to be a lot more enjoyable than the walk from it had been. He and Yuugi strolled leisurely across the city, taking their time despite the cold, talking and laughing.

Yuugi was determined to fill Atem in on everything he had missed during his 'absence'. He talked excitedly about everything and everyone - except Anzu, Atem noted, but did not comment on it. Yuugi's narration was so lively and interesting he couldn't stop staring at him and listening. Slowly, those last eleven years took shape in Atem's mind; blanks were filled in, questions were answered. He heard about Yuugi's time in college and his travels. He swelled with pride as he listened about the games he designed, their world-wide acclaim, and his well-deserved fame as King of Games. He learned about Malik's first days after he decided to come back to Domino and start a new life; how they helped him land his first job, and what a disaster it had been when Jounouchi tried to teach him how to cook. He even heard everything about Honda and Shizuka's wedding, down to the dress she wore.

But the biggest surprise were the news about Jounouchi. When Atem met him in the morning, it had been obvious that he was happy and content with his life, but Atem could have never guessed the extent of his success.

Jounouchi was the one who took the most risks right after graduating. He had decided to follow his dream and make a living as a professional duelist. He practiced and travelled, fought duelists from all over the world and slowly, step by step, tournament by tournament, he actually managed to climb to the top of the world's ranks. There had been many hard days and he lost his smile more than once, but he never let anything hold him down. He persevered with fiery determination, drawing power from everything he'd learned and everything he'd lived, until he achieved his goal. He managed to become the Duel Monsters World Champion - a title he'd been holding for the last three years.

As astonishing as this had been, what Atem heard next made his jaw drop. Jounouchi's world champion status was something that not even Seto Kaiba could ignore. However begrudgingly, the millionaire was forced to admit that Jounouchi was good - according to Yuugi, Kaiba's actual words were _'I've heard that Jounouchi has finally improved a bit, so I guess even old dogs learn new tricks every now and then'_. His cold facade might have tricked a lot at first, but he let his true opinion of Jounouchi show when he offered him a job. And of course, since matters where Kaiba was involved were hardly ever simple, it was not just any job.

Seto Kaiba had been planning to open a dueling school where he would train a select few in pro-level dueling. He wanted to create the next generation of champions - and who was better to teach his students than the World Champion himself? Jounouchi of course agreed, so now they were preoccupied with the final arrangements. The school would open in a few months, and both Kaiba and Jounouchi were busy with long meetings over syllabus, exam systems, books and the like.

When Atem got over his initial shock, he had a hundred more questions than before and Yuugi was patient enough to recount the chronicles of Jounouchi and Kaiba's explosive collaboration. Apparently, tension was the one thing their relationship did not miss: Kaiba had not stopped making sarcastic remarks and Jounouchi now had the confidence to throw them right back at his face. This made their meetings more than a little eventful and their lives pretty loud, but they both seemed to be enjoying themselves. No matter what Jounouchi said about Kaiba, he could never hold back his smile whenever talking about it. As for Kaiba, offering him a post in his school was proof enough that he harbored more respect for Jounouchi than he let show.

Atem was so engrossed in the conversation he did not realize how time flew, or what streets they crossed and what turns they took. The city blocks rolled by unnoticed by him. What did catch his attention though, was the way Yuugi's breath left small clouds of fog as he talked, and the way his eyes sparkled when he smiled. The way the cold made his own throat scratchy when he laughed, or that his shoulders did not feel as stiff and tight as before. By the time they reached their destination, Atem's throat was sore from laughing and talking so much.

It was the view of Yuugi's house that brought him back to the present. When he looked up to the building that towered overhead, he realized that some part of him was furtively wary of returning to the apartment. In his mind, the place had a vast, cold and unfriendly feeling to it. The miserable hours he had spent there in the afternoon, confused and with nothing but his thoughts for company, flitted through his mind as they rode the elevator up to the top floor.

However, when Yuugi turned on the lights and they walked inside, everything seemed changed - and when Yuugi put on the kettle to make some tea, the place really felt like home. Perhaps it was Yuugi's smile that made all the difference. Perhaps it was Atem's own heart, which was lighter and less troubled after letting some of the weight that pressed down on it go. He did not know for sure but, whatever it was, he cherished it.

They both sat cross-legged on Yuugi's thick carpet, each one clutching at a steaming mug of tea to warm their numb fingers. Yuugi could not stop talking. He dragged Atem to a trip to the past, all the way back to Duelist Kingdom. He was talking and talking with his eyes gleaming in excitement, every so often exclaiming as he remembered another detail. Atem laughed at the vivacity of it all, feeling warmth that had nothing to do with Yuugi's well-heated apartment wrap him like a blanket. Listening about his friends current exploits had been fun, but this was different. There was something comforting in remembering events in which he'd took part, even played a major role. It fortified his sense of existing. It assured him that he belonged there; it made him feel that he _fit_.

All in all, their night was quite calm and pleasant - at least until the moment they decided to play Duel Monsters.

It all started with a simple light-hearted banter over which one of them was the actual King of Games. Once they realized that they would reach no definite conclusion by talking about it, they agreed it would be best to leave the heart of the cards decide for them. Yuugi unearthed every Duel Monsters card he possessed and gave Atem a few minutes to assemble a deck, while he ran to the kitchen to make some more tea.

KaibaCorp had created a home version of a Duel Monsters Virtual Arena, but they both decided against holograms and over-the-top effects. They simply moved the coffee table aside and sat across from each other on the carpet, with a pot of fresh tea right next to their Graveyards.

And what started as a slow and calculated duel soon turned into a full-blown showdown.

Looking back, Atem could say with certainty that the turning point had been the moment when Yuugi smiled innocently and said, "What's wrong, other me? Having trouble without your God Cards?"

Atem smirked by reflex before responding. "I think I've proved that I don't need the God Cards to win. I practically invented that game."

"No, you didn't. Your father did. And I have eleven more years of experience than you do, so..." Yuugi shrugged smugly.

"Your arrogance will be your downfall, aibou. I activate Pot Of Greed: it allows me to-"

"No, you don't: Magic Jammer!"

Atem bristled. "Alright, then. I place this card face down and end my turn."

"Then I draw... And I can finally summon the Dark Magici-!"

"Not so fast, aibou!" Atem flipped his face-down card with one fluid motion. "Trap Hole!"

"Oh, you-!" Yuugi huffed and placed his Dark Magician in the Graveyard, giving the card a pained look. "Then I place two cards face down and end my turn."

Atem drew a card and grinned triumphantly. He took a deep breath and used his best voice to announce, "I play MONSTER REB-"

"That's banned."

Atem froze in the middle of his extravagant flourish. "What?"

"This card is banned. You can't use it."

"Since when?"

"Uuh... Since always."

Atem frowned and crossed his arms across his chest. "Well, it certainly wasn't banned when I was around."

"Anyway, we use Monster Reincarnation now."

"This is ridiculous! Why would one ban Monster Reborn?"

"Because it's OP."

" _OP_ _?!_ " Atem all but screeched. "This card has literally saved our souls on many occasions!"

"Yup," Yuugi nodded. "That's my point. It's OP."

Atem let out a dignified scoff. "Who decides what cards to ban, anyway? They are corrupting the rules of a game more than three-thousand years old-"

"Pegasus wrote the rules of the modern Duel Monsters, other me, not your ancestors. You didn't even have magic and trap cards."

"That's right. We had real magic instead."

"Say what you will; Monster Reborn is banned and that won't change."

Atem feigned a scowl. "When did _you_ become so cocky, aibou?"

"I had a good teacher," Yuugi smirked.

Atem felt personally challenged to respond to Yuugi's attitude with an even cockier one. He narrowed his eyes and let his lips curve upwards. "Is that so? Learn from this, then: I bring Gandora, the Dragon Of Destruction! I pay half my Life Points and power him up by destroying all cards on the field, earning him 300 Attack Points for each. Which gives him 2700 Attack Points and leaves you open to a direct attack, and-"

Yuugi's brows scrunched up in an expression of pity. "Oh, other me... You are not gonna like this." Before sending it to the Graveyard, he flipped one of his face-down Monster Cards: Neko Mane King.

Atem's smirk died on his lips. "Oh no."

Yuugi nodded solemnly. "Oh yes. The destruction of my Neko Mane King forces your turn to end. Gandora disappears before he has the chance to attack." An amused laugh escaped him. "Sorry, other me. You cut your Life Points in half for nothing."

For a minute or so, Atem just stared. Then he gave Yuugi an approving nod. "Nice move. Your teacher must have been exceptionally good."

"Eh, he was okay."

Without thinking, Atem grabbed a pillow and flung it straight at Yuugi's face.

"Hey! My cards!" Yuugi whined. "Look, you scattered them!"

Atem gave a haughty shrug. "I guess I win, then."

"You'd wish!"

Yuugi retaliated by grabbing one of the couch's leather cushions and throwing it at Atem, effectively ruining the game. Duel Monsters cards flew all around as Atem was knocked to his back.

He pushed the cushion off of him and brushed his golden bangs away from his eyes. He tried to sound scolding, but could not keep the amusement out of his voice as he said, "Oh, real mature, aibou. Aren't you a little to old to be acting like this?"

"Aren't you a little too _pharaoh_ to be acting like this?" Yuugi shot back with a wide smile.

Atem gave an indignant huff. He did not like losing, be it Duel Monsters or pillow fights. Across the carpet, Yuugi was singing, "I'm the King of Games, I'm the King of Games! I'm the King of Games, and Monster Reborn is banned, and- _ow!_ "

Atem launched the cushion with such force that Yuugi toppled and knocked his mug over. The remainder of his tea spilled on the carpet.

"Whoops!" Yuugi exclaimed in between giggles.

"Oh Ra- I'm sorry, aibou," Atem breathed, struggling to talk after laughing so hard.

The tea did not stain a lot, but they both declared ceasefire and set to clean the carpet, still chuckling. It was close to midnight and Yuugi would have to go back to work in the morning, so they called it a day and decided to go to sleep.

Atem would stay at the guestroom: a nice and airy room with a beautiful view. Yuugi's bedroom was right next to it, so the whole thing had a cozy feeling to it. Atem supposed that this would be how he'd feel if he were an actual teenager at a sleepover in his best friend's house.

Yuugi kept babbling, albeit sleepily, as he helped him make the bed and carried warm blankets around.

"Other me, do you want to take a shower? There are clean towels in this set of drawers, and-"

"Yes. Thank you." He accepted a clean towel with a smile.

Things were okay. Not the same as he remembered, but okay. He was back. He was in Domino; he was with Yuugi. And there was a chance - a small, fleeting one, but wonderful in its probability - that he would get to stay. There would be plenty of time to work on whatever was not ideal. Tomorrow.

* * *

Tomorrow came, but it was not remotely as grand as Atem thought it'd be.

If asked what he expected his first week back to the world of the living to be, he would definitely not say _boring; a_ nd yet a few days later he was forced to accept that this was exactly the characterization that fit his situation. He was experiencing his first days in his own, material body after thousands of years, he was with his friends and his partner, and instead of this being the most thrilling event of his life, he simply ended up bored out of his mind. Not that getting re-acquainted with living with an actual body did not have its challenges - because it did. But he'd expected his first days back to be a tad more exciting than that.

The heart of the problem resided in Yuugi not being able to take more days off work. His company was two weeks away from launching their new game, and they were all working overtime with no chance for a break. So, naturally, Yuugi spent many long hours away, and Atem spent many long hours alone in his hikari's apartment.

The second worst thing was that none of his friends could keep him company, either. Jounouchi was away for a few days because of a tournament, Honda had to deal with Miko and Shizuka both being sick with the flu, and Ryou... Well, he never got as close to Atem as the rest of the group. Sure, his yami was to blame for that, but Atem felt that this was some sort of gap that couldn't be bridged so easily. And, if he wanted to be frank, he was unnerved by him when he met him a few days ago, so Ryou Bakura was definitely not on the top of his list of people he'd like to spend more time with.

Anzu, however, was an entirely different matter. He actually wanted to meet her and talk to her. After all, she had been one of his best friends. Yuugi had told him next to nothing about how she was doing these days: he did not know whether she was back in America or in Domino, he did not know whether she had managed to make her dream of becoming a dancer come true... He knew nothing. And he did not try to ask Yuugi again: what few hours he spent with his hikari, he preferred to spend it with pleasant conversations and games, not awkward silences - or, even worse, arguments.

Still, he felt the need to talk to her. He even felt it was his responsibility to do so. No matter what Yuugi had said, the whole affair with Anzu _could_ have been a misunderstanding. Now that Atem was back, he could attempt to set a few things right. But talking to her would mean talking to Yuugi first, and this did not feel the right time to do so. Perhaps he could do it later; after the initial shock of his return would wear off.

So it was that Atem found himself alone in Yuugi's apartment for hours on end, with nothing to do and no one to talk to. He tried reading to pass the time, but after a few hours he would grow sick of it too. He caught up with what had happened in the world during those last years and he even learned how to use the internet - to some extent, at least - but these past-times were less than fulfilling.

The best hours of his day were when Yuugi came back from work, and they talked and ate take-out while playing video games. Atem could see that his hikari was feeling guilty for leaving him alone for so many hours, but there was nothing that could be done. He understood that, and told Yuugi not to worry about it, trying to seem content for his hikari's sake.

However, after three days of confinement, Atem decided that sitting around in the apartment was not doing any good to anyone. He hadn't forgotten about Yami Bakura; he was adamant that they should at least try to locate him. Since no one else seemed inclined to do so, Atem decided to look for the Thief himself. He borrowed one of Yuugi's coats, got out of the apartment and simply roamed the streets of Domino. He had no plan nor any clues, but he guessed it was better than doing nothing.

After a few hours of fruitless wandering he was forced to accept the city was way too big to just stumble on the Thief like that. He returned to Yuugi's apartment disappointed, cold and a little annoyed, and went back into doing absolutely nothing for the rest of the day.

* * *

A dozen miles away, Ryou Bakura wished that his life would go back to being boring and uneventful.

 _Boring_ was not _good_ by a long shot, but it would still be better than what his life had been the last few days. As the week drew to a close, Ryou had to admit that it qualified for a place in the Top 10 Worst Weeks Ever. There was not much that could compete with the return of his yami _and_ having to work overtime to meet the demands of the holiday season. To top this all nicely, he had an important college exam coming up and he hadn't managed to study one bit.

So yeah, his week rightfully earned a spot on his sad Top 10. To celebrate it, he did something he hadn't done in four years: he lit a cigarette. At first it was just one, but by the end of the week he'd gone through a whole pack and was halfway through a second one. He guessed he should feel regret, especially after all the trouble he went into to quit, but he didn't. Oh well. There was only so much one could worry about simultaneously; the rest just took a back seat.

The silver lining was that on Saturday he would get to see Malik again. Ryou would be at the store, working until closing time, and then he would head to the _Crow_ , the rock bar where Malik worked. Ryou was not one to go out much but, as the days rattled by, he caught himself really looking forward to it.

So it was that on Saturday he managed to get through his shift with less gritting of his teeth than he used to. He kept glancing at the clock in-between folding sweaters, t-shirts and pants, inwardly counting the hours down to give himself some courage.

 _Six hours to go... Four and half more... Just three..._

His feet hurt and his head was throbbing, but the promise of a chair, a drink and his friend's company kept him going. He knew that he should probably go straight home and study for his upcoming exam. It would be the responsible thing to do, but it could not be helped. If he went back to his apartment after the week he'd just had, he'd go crazy; he was certain of it. Plus, there was no way he would concentrate enough to study.

He huffed and folded a frighteningly fuzzy sweater that had been laying discarded on the floor. _One more hour of this, just_ one...

The store was full of customers to the point where moving around was a feat. Ryou was assigned the back of the shop again, so he had to crane his neck to inspect the crowd all the way to the wide entrance door. He'd been doing this every so often for the past days no matter where he was: at work, at the street, at the grocery store, or even in his own apartment.

He thought it weird that he had not caught another glimpse of his yami ever since the night of his return. No, scratch 'weird' - it was downright suspicious. Ryou did not _want_ to see him again, not by a long shot, but he had to admit that he'd be a lot less anxious if he knew exactly where his yami was. At least make sure that he wasn't stalking him, or plotting something nasty.

An artificial bell sounded over the store's PA system.

"Attention, customers. Out store will be closing in five minutes. Please, bring your final selections to the registers. Thank you."

Ryou sighed. That meant that there was less than an hour to go. After the last customer left, there would be the usual half hour of tidying up and then he'd be free.

He wanted a cigarette so badly his fingers practically twitched. A cigarette and a drink.

The wide glass entrance doors finally closed. The music was turned off, leaving the store eerily quiet after the maddening buzz of the afternoon. Ryou glanced one more time out the glass door, just in case a certain someone happened to be standing outside, and set to tidying.

The place looked as if it had gone through a storm. All of the employees did their best to make it presentable again, but the allotted half hour was over before much progress could be made. Ryou didn't particularly care; the morning shift would take care of the rest. He threw a rumpled shirt onto a pile and ran to the staff room. He took off his work shirt as fast as he could and put on a dark blue one. For the first time that week, he looked in the mirror and tried to smooth out the rough edges of his image: he straightened his shirt, brushed his hair a bit. He even tied a scarf around his neck - although that served more as a protection against the cold and less as a fashion statement. He wrapped himself in his jacket and hurried outside.

The _Crow_ was just a short trek from Ryou's workplace, so he walked instead of waiting for a bus. He crossed the narrow streets of downtown Domino with brisk steps, his scarf wrapped around his mouth and nose to ward off the freezing night air. Colors blinked ceaselessly in the night, spilling from myriads of signs. Now that all stores were closed for the day, there weren't many people walking the streets. Ryou took this as a good sign: it probably meant that the _Crow_ wouldn't be too crowded, either.

He glanced at shop windows and signs as he walked, mostly watching at whatever was reflected in the glass than the products being displayed. Every now and then he turned sharply to look behind him, as if to catch a stalker by surprise. There was no stalker, of course, but that did not put him at ease.

When the _Crow_ came into view, the first real smile in days found his way to his lips. He took in the familiar sight for a few seconds, before walking up to the entrance.

It stood out from its neighboring buildings not because of extravagant signs or a colorful front, but because it lacked precisely that. Compared to the bars and shops around it, it looked out of place. One might even characterize it humble, if it weren't for its sheer size. Before being turned into a rock bar, the _Crow_ was an old industrial warehouse: a long, rectangular building at least as high as a two-story house. It stood withered and old, with no flashing letters to draw attention to it; there was only one simple, wooden sign above the door, creaking slightly as it swayed. Two vintage lanterns provided just enough illumination for one to make out a the name of the bar and a crow carved on the wood.

Ryou pushed the door open and walked in.

Warmth hit his face, along with the rich sound of electric guitars. He loosened his scarf and inhaled the smell of cigarette smoke, beer, and old wood. He hummed contentedly as his eyes swept the place.

Lanterns hung from the wooden beams that crossed the high ceiling, spilling their soft golden glow over benches, pool tables, stools and a few rickety sofas. Ryou had been right in his assumption that the place wouldn't be crowded at this hour. It was so spacious that it was hardly ever full, anyway, but Saturdays were always their busiest nights. As it were, he spotted several of the _Crow's_ regulars - people he knew only by sight - drinking beer and talking loudly enough to antagonize the music.

Ryou's gaze found its way to the bar. Its long wooden counter was illuminated a tad more brightly than the rest of the place, thanks to a row of lights that hung low overhead. Just like every Saturday, two barmen stood behind the bar. The first one seemed like the proud embodiment of a metalhead/biker cliche: tall and burly, with long black hair in a ponytail, bushy beard and tattoos on every visible inch of his skin - except perhaps for his forehead.

The _Crow's_ second barman was significantly more exotic-looking: long sandy hair messed with just the right amount of carelessness, caramel skin, gold earrings glinting in the half-light. He no longer lined his eyes with kohl, but he did not need to: his lavender irises stood out as they were. He was wearing a simple black shirt, just tight enough to hint at the well-toned body underneath, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A simple golden bracelet jingled as he mixed a cocktail.

Ryou smiled the moment he spotted his friend, but Malik was too busy to notice him: he was putting the finishing touches on a cocktail, arranging and rearranging spearmint leaves. Ryou made his way towards him, leaned against the counter and smirked. "Hey, good looking."

Malik looked up with sharp reply ready at his lips, but once he saw Ryou his whole face lit up.

"Hey, sugar puff!" he grinned. He nodded towards the two fancy cocktails in front of him. "Wait a sec, let me finish with these and I'll be right back!" He grabbed one in each hand and took them to the group that was huddled at the far end of the bar.

Ryou took off his jacket and took his usual seat: a tall stool right in front of Malik's station. The moment he sat down, his back and feet went numb in relief. He let out a tired groan, leaned with his elbows on the counter and basked in the satisfaction of actually sitting down instead of standing.

"Hard day?"

Malik was back and looking at him with a mixture of amusement and concern. Instead of a response, Ryou just sighed. He collapsed face-first on the counter and his forehead hit the slightly sticky surface.

"That bad, huh?" Malik giggled somewhere above his head.

Ryou lifted his head just enough to give his friend a bleary, one-eyed look. "That, and then some."

"Then I guess a drink is due. What will it be tonight, kind sir?"

Ryou let out a half-hearted chuckle and straightened his back. He glanced at the bottle of vodka that gleamed innocently behind Malik's shoulder, but changed his mind fairly quickly. He let his gaze drop to his hands. "Umm... A beer, I guess."

Malik filled a glass with swift movements and placed it before him. He wiped his hands and looked at Ryou, still beaming. "So... What's up? What happened while I was away?"

Ryou simply shrugged. "You know everything, more or less."

"Yeah, but hearing the live version is different. Come on!" He gave Ryou's shoulder a playful pinch. "Tell me. How have you been?"

Ryou sighed and stared at the glass between his hands. "Okay, then. The past few days have been some of the worst I've had the bad luck to experience. So, cheers to that."

"They've been giving you hell at work, huh?" Malik said with a sympathetic wince.

"Yeah. Holiday season is the best!" Ryou sneered with a double thumbs up and a fake smile that collapsed a second later. He shook his head in exasperation. "I swear, people go crazy this time of the year. I don't think I served one sane customer today."

"Ouch. That sucks."

"I know." Ryou wrapped his fingers around his cold glass and the moisture dampened his palms. "Anyway, how was your week? Are you done with the shooting for the movie?"

"Yeah, for now. They might need me again next month," Malik said lightly as he cleaned the beer taps with a wet cloth.

"So you'll be around for a while?"

"That's right. You happy, sugar?" Malik winked and gave him a cheeky smile.

"Thrilled," Ryou said with a roll of his eyes. Malik laughed and mock-slapped him with the wet cloth he was holding. "Seriously, though," Ryou added after he'd warded off his friend's attack, "I'm glad you'll be around. Things are bat-shit crazy these days. Having some company will be a relief."

"You mean 'having one sane person around, one who can actually keep their calm and not freak out over every little thing'? Yeah, I bet it will be a relief," Malik said with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Hey, I may be kinda freaked out, but you are... insanely chill."

" _Kinda_ freaked out?" Malik echoed in disbelief.

"Insanely chill," Ryou repeated with a nod, pointing at Malik.

The Egyptian chuckled. "Come on, drink your beer. It might help you relax a bit."

Ryou looked at the rapidly dissolving foam in his glass. He didn't really feel like it, but he brought the glass to his lips anyway.

"Yo, Ishtar." The other barman approached them with a basket full of glasses fresh out of the dishwasher. "Can you take care of these?"

"Sure."

"Thanks man. Hey Ryou," he greeted with a curt nod.

"Hey, Reiji," Ryou greeted back with a polite smile.

Malik placed the basket next to him, grabbed a clean cloth and started polishing a glass. He made sure they were alone before he leaned closer to Ryou. "So... No sight of Bakura yet?"

Ryou, who was drinking, swallowed so hard that he beer scraped his throat. " _Do not call him that!_ And no, I haven't seen him."

Malik kept his eyes on the glass he was wiping, thus missing Ryou's glower. "That's good."

"No, it's not."

Malik's eyebrows shot up. He gave Ryou an incredulous look. "Don't tell me you actually want to see him?"

"Of course I don't," Ryou snapped. "I don't want to lay eyes on him ever again. But the fact that he hasn't shown himself is... suspicious, to say the least."

"Well... You did tell him to stay away," Malik pointed out. He lifted a glass against the light to inspect it and moved to the next.

"When was he one to actually listen to whatever I said? No." Ryou shook his head fervently. "His absence is _suspicious_. And it drives me nuts. I keep feeling he's around, watching me or something."

Malik looked at him sternly. "You do realize you are driving yourself crazy, right? You don't even need him to be close to affect you."

"He could be close, for all I know," Ryou said stubbornly.

"I don't think he is." Malik leaned against the counter and grabbed another glass. "If he was indeed watching you, I don't think he'd have managed to remain hidden this long. He's not as subtle as he wants to believe."

"He's pretty capable," Ryou admitted sourly.

"He's also a drama queen. He wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to show up."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Oh, come on, Ryou. I've worked with the man. And, let me tell you..." He pointed a perfectly-polished glass at him and fixed him with a serious look. "Plotting death and world dominance with someone tends to be pretty revealing about the way their mind works. For once, you should listen to the bottomless well of wisdom that is Malik Ishtar."

"And _you_ should _totally_ put the 'bottomless well' part in your personal ad," Ryou smirked.

Malik snorted in laughter, but sobered up so quickly it was disconcerting. "Seriously, Ryou. Stop driving yourself crazy over him. It's not good to let such feelings consume you. Take it from me."

Ryou pushed his bangs off his eyes and sighed deeply. "I know. But I can't just ignore the fact that he's back. I can't."

"Focus on something else. What about college?"

He scowled. "Is college supposed to make me feel better?"

"It could be an efficient distraction. Don't you have an important exam coming up?"

"I... do."

Ryou glowered at his now lukewarm beer. Thinking about college was almost as bad as thinking about his yami. Not quite the same, but almost.

He was a student of English language and literature, but in between work and his life's many ups and downs, he still hadn't managed to graduate. College was a painful topic because, to Ryou, it was proof of how much of a loser he was. He hadn't managed to get in college right after high school like everybody else had, because his grades had been low. Way too low. After their adventures were over and his yami was gone, it had been hard for Ryou to pick up the pieces of his life and put together something viable. He'd cracked. He'd tumbled low and, naturally, his grades had taken the plunge with him. So he watched everyone else go off to college and follow their dreams while he was stuck.

The worst of the blows had come after that. His father, thoroughly disgraced by his failure of a son, disowned him. He kicked him out of the house he'd been providing for him and stopped sending him money. He cut off all ties; the only thing he told him when Ryou tried to contact him, was to call him once he learned how be a functional member of society instead of being a parasite.

Ryou. A parasite. Wasn't that ironic.

So he'd found himself with no choice but to bust his ass to work to survive. While the others studied and created and evolved, he was wiping tables and serving tea and scrubbing floors. He realized soon enough that without a degree of some sort he'd never move past that. So, once he managed to somewhat stand on his own feet, he decided to pursue a career. Any career. Whatever would be easier, since he wouldn't be able to devote much time and energy to it.

When he was younger, he'd dreamed of becoming an archaeologist, just like his father. Ancient civilizations fascinated him. Especially ancient Egypt.

After his yami, he wanted nothing to do with it. He threw away all relevant books, all the gifts his father had sent him, the diorama his yami had made him create... Anything that reminded him of that place, that age, and _him_. He didn't want to remember. He tried not to.

After his father abandoned him too, he didn't want to even consider following in his footsteps. It did not matter that Ryou had always had a knack for archaeology. It did not matter that he was _good_ at it, nor that he had already had a vast knowledge on the subject for someone his age. No; archaeology was out of the question.

English seemed like a solid choice. He was already fluent, thanks to lessons he'd taken as a child and the trips he'd accompanied his father to. Ryou did not think it over twice; he couldn't really see any other options anyway.

So there he was, 29 years old, struggling for a degree. Being still in college at his age was pretty disgraceful, too, but he did not trouble himself with this detail. He had no family around to embarrass, so he didn't have to worry about 'disgracing anyone' anymore. It was something.

He felt his mouth twist in an unhappy smirk. _Way to look at the bright side of things,_ he told himself.

He looked at his half-drunk beer and scrunched up his nose in mild disgust. He pushed the glass away from him. Beer wasn't really cutting it, but he didn't want to ask Malik for something stronger.

His fingers were itching. He wanted a smoke.

"Ryou? You okay?"

He looked up. His friend was eyeing him with concern.

"Never been better. Why?"

"You, like... totally zoned out. I've asked you twice about studying, but-"

"Oh. Sorry. I guess I didn't hear you over the music." He tried to smile. Malik did not smile back.

"Seriously, though. Are you alright?"

This time he managed a bitter smirk. "Is that a rhetorical question?" He sighed and moved restlessly in his seat. "Let's not talk about college, please. Or my yami."

"Okay. Although, with two of the more fun subjects out of the way, I don't know how we'll ever find something to talk about!" Malik snickered as he set the cloth down. Apparently he'd finished polishing the glasses during Ryou's glum reflection. He grabbed a couple and turned around to place them on their allotted shelves.

"What about your yami?" Ryou asked, loudly enough for Malik to hear him over the music. "Any sight of him?"

Malik turned his head to look at him over his shoulder. "Mariku? No. Which really leads me to believe he's not back."

"Do not let your guard down," Ryou warned sharply.

Malik placed the last glass on the shelf and turned around to face him. "I won't. I mean, who knows? Perhaps my yami has met your yami and the only reason we haven't seen them yet is that they're both holed up somewhere, plotting the end of the world." He shrugged theatrically, barely containing his laughter.

"Not funny," Ryou grumbled, thoroughly unamused.

Malik giggled and waved an airy hand. "Oh, relax, sugar."

A customer approached the counter and gave Malik his order, so he left Ryou on his own for a while and set to make a couple of cocktails. Ryou looked around as he waited, absently tapping his foot in the beat of the music. The _Ace Of Spades_ blasted through the speakers and he started humming the lyrics, feeling the bass thrumming deep in his bones.

Once Malik was done with the drinks, he wiped his hands and returned to his spot across from Ryou. He glanced around to make sure nobody was close, then leaned towards him for good measure. "So. I talked to Ishizu today."

Ryou perked up. He glanced around once, too, and whispered, "Any news?"

Malik's wince was an answer in and of itself. "Yeah, but they're not good. Things don't look too hot at her front."

"No progress in getting the Book, then?"

"No. And it doesn't seem likely that she'll manage to."

Ryou frowned. "But you said she knows people that could help. That she has connections-"

"She's tried everything. So far, her connections have been of no use."

"How can that be?"

Malik's expression turned grim. "Dunno. But I don't like it one bit."

"Nobody did, ever since day one. I mean..." Ryou lowered his voice even more. "It's the Millennium Spellbook. I don't think any of us wanted to be dragged back into another Millennium-related mess-"

"That's not it." Malik sighed and brushed a tuft behind his ear, revealing a glinting earring. "At first, I'd allowed myself the benefit of doubt. I thought there might be a possibility that Ishizu was overreacting. But now..." He shook his head. "I gotta admit, this whole affair sounds fishy."

Ryou pondered on it for a moment, distractedly watching Malik's earring as it swayed. "But... Is it really _that_ unheard of to deny Ishizu involvement in a project?"

"It is," Malik said firmly. "I've told you: they've never kept her in the dark before."

"But why keep her purposefully away from the Book? They don't know about her involvement with the Millennium Items, or the whole... tomb-keeping thing, do they?"

"Perhaps it's not about keeping Ishizu away in particular. Perhaps it's about keeping away any person they don't trust."

"...Who's _they_ , though?" Ryou asked with a frown.

Malik shrugged. "Whoever's head of the project."

"Wait, isn't the Council of Antiquities-?"

"No, no. Representatives of the Council are present in all excavations, but that's that."

Ryou's brow scrunched up even more. "Then who's-?"

"That's what Ishizu's looking into now," Malik said, tapping a finger to the counter for emphasis. "She's trying to find out who's funding this - because someone is. Someone sends greats sums of money to pay for all those translators and restorers."

Ryou remained silent at that. The music and noise seemed to swell around them.

He did not like what Malik's words implied. He did not like to think that they probably had a new enemy to deal with. On the other hand, he couldn't ignore the possibility, either.

He scoffed at himself. _Enemy_. This was a word that did not really have a place in his life now. _Enemies_ were a thing of the past, when they were a bunch of teenagers with heroic delusions; back when they wanted to save the world with their cards, and gambled their souls for their friends' sake. There were no real enemies now. There were co-workers you might not like, or annoying bosses and demanding customers. Even thinking that word made him feel childish.

However, he couldn't just stick his head in the sand and pretend everything was fine. Because if a person was funding the translation of the Spellbook, he probably wasn't their friend - and they definitely weren't going to use its magic to achieve world peace or something equivalent. Which consequently made them an enemy, and made Ryou and his friends... What? What could Ryou, Malik and the others do against such a threat? They were just a bunch of normal nobodies: a store-employee, a barman, a game-designer... God, they sounded like a joke. Problems could no longer be solved with games and magic. They had meddled once because they had magic items in their hands, and yamis, and-

He fidgeted when the startling realization hit him.

They had yamis once more. They had come back. Via magic means, no doubt. They had no Items, but everything else was alarmingly familiar. Perhaps that was a sign that history was repeating itself. Perhaps _'saving the world from its mortal enemies'_ was not as much a fairy-tale as Ryou had come to believe. And perhaps this bunch of nobodies would have to take matters to their hands once more. They'd just have to figure out how.

Malik's voice cut into his thoughts. "You know, I've been thinking... If this whole affair is, indeed, way above Ishizu's power..."

Ryou met his gaze steadily. He was under the impression that they were both thinking the same thing: if their enemy had money and power, then they would have to fight them back using the same weapons.

"Kaiba," Ryou said simply.

Malik nodded. Then he let out a breathy laugh. "Boy, he'll be thrilled."

"He'll probably kick us out the moment we mention a magic spellbook. Or... He'll have Mokuba escort us out, or something."

Malik smirked slyly. "Oh, I think he'll be more willing to help than you think."

"If you're talking about Jounouchi, I don't think-"

"No, silly. I'm talking about the Pharaoh."

"...What about the Pharaoh?"

Malik rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Oh, come on, Ryou! What was the one thing Kaiba always wanted?"

Ryou kept staring uncomprehendingly. "Uuh... To sculpt the moon into a Blue Eyes White Dragon?"

"No; he wanted to beat the Pharaoh in a duel. Come on, he was literally obsessed with it!"

"Yeah... So?"

Malik sighed tiredly. "So, he was bummed when the Pharaoh left before he'd had the opportunity for a rematch. So, now that he's back..."

Ryou finally caught on. "You think he'll help us if the Pharaoh promises to duel him in return?" He lifted an eyebrow in disbelief. "It won't work."

"It will," Malik stated with confidence.

"How much do you wanna bet?"

"Oh, don't make me take your money, sugar puff."

Ryou chuckled. "Fine. But we'll have to tell the others first."

"I know. But I think it's best to wait. At least, until Ishizu has some solid information."

Ryou nodded in agreement.

Malik had to leave again to prepare another order, so Ryou took this chance to recover. His brain was burning from fatigue and all the new information. He stretched and groaned when he felt his spine pop.

He felt around his jacket for his pack of cigarettes, then hesitated. He hadn't told Malik that he'd took up smoking again. He stole a glance at the Egyptian; he was preparing some drinks while making small talk with a customer. Ryou's fingers slipped away from his jacket pocket. He could wait until the walk home to light one. _Yes, but that's not gonna happen any time soon_ , a voice in his mind whispered.

He almost groaned audibly. He hated that little knowing voice. He also hated deliberately hiding things from Malik.

He took out the pack, picked a cigarette and caught it with his lips. He caught Malik's eye; saw him freeze for a moment. Malik gave him a frown that conveyed both question and surprise, then turned back to the drinks he'd been mixing.

Oh well. The hard part was over. Ryou lit the tip and inhaled, and felt his brain relax just a little. He sighed in satisfaction. This was what he'd been dreaming for the past eight hours.

Malik came back. Wiped his hands. Looked at Ryou in apparent displeasure.

"I didn't know _this_ was a thing again," he said, nodding towards the cigarette.

"Come on. After the week I had, it was inevitable," Ryou replied quietly.

Malik grimaced and shook his head. "Okay. I won't scold you, cause I'm not your mother. _But,_ " he added sharply, pointing a finger at him. His lavender irises pierced Ryou. "I disapprove."

Ryou chuckled. "Yeah, I know."

Malik grabbed a towel, tossed it over his shoulder with a flourish and flashed him a smile. "So. Will you stay 'till closing time? It's a slow night. I could use the company."

Ryou smiled and settled more comfortably on his stool. "Sure."

.

.

.

.

.

 **Author's note**

 _ **Heeey looks like that HUGE first day is finally over! It was a long long day in this universe, but time marches on again!**_ _ ***whispers 'now the fun stuff will start happening'***_

 _ **To those of you who asked me about Kaiba: we already learned a few things about him in this chapter, and yes, we will get to see him. Soon. I hope. D:**_

 _ **In this fic I'm strictly following the manga canon. No anime, no movies, not even Dark Side of Dimensions (yeah, I know that Takahashi wrote the plot to that one, so technically it's canon, but still).  
Now here's the fun thing: I haven't watched GX. I don't know what's going on in GX. I didn't know there was a Dueling Academy in GX, and I definitely didn't know it was Kaiba's. Last year, when I started planning this fic, I was like "I really like the idea of Kaiba founding a school" and my boyfriend/beta reader was like, "Soooo just like GX?"  
I WAS TOTALLY CLUELESS xD (great minds and stuff, eh? no? okay)**_  
 _ **I guess the reason I'm saying this is so that people won't misinterpret this as my considering GX canon. That's not the case. This fic treats as canon only the events of the manga - the rest are just my additions.**_

 _ **Thanks for reading and, as always, let me know what you think! Your feedback really helps me grow and improve (and it makes me all happy and squealing and that's great too)  
Until next time, take care everybody! :D**_


	11. A simple question

**Chapter 11: A simple question**

Bakura was not happy.

He was lying on his back on the filthy carpet of his small room, breathing heavily through parted teeth. His next fight was scheduled for the 23rd of December, and that was less than two weeks away. He had no time to waste, so he had tried working out a bit—emphasis on _tried._

He had decided to start with a few push ups, for no other reason than it was one of the few exercises he knew how to do. Kind of. Well, he remembered the basics. His knowledge of physical exercise consisted of half-faded memories from Ryou's gym classes, and push ups had been a teacher-favorite back then.

He'd started off confidently enough but, by the end of his third rep, his muscles were trembling desperately. He had managed two more before collapsing. After that his body had refused to keep going, no matter how much he'd pushed it. So he was currently lying on his back, panting from over-exertion and cursing his hikari in every language he had ever known.

He had known training was going to be hard, but he hadn't expected it to be _this_ hard. Two weeks would be nowhere near enough to train a body this uncooperative.

Sure, he'd managed to win last time, but only barely. Thinking back, Bakura attributed his victory to his opponent's inexperience rather than his own fighting prowess. In short: he got lucky once. He could not count on being lucky twice.

He had to keep training. Perseverance was all he needed.

He rolled on his belly with a huff and got ready for attempt number two. He planted his palms on the floor, dug his toes in the carpet and lifted his body. So far, so good. He was trembling a bit, but okay. He took a sharp breath, bent at the elbows and tried to lower his chest to the floor. He could feel his back curving and his pelvis drooping and that could not be right, but whatever.

He braced himself and tried to push his body back up; his arms started shaking violently. He grit his teeth, as if that would stabilize him, and kept trying to push the floor away. After a few more seconds of struggling, his arms collapsed under his weight and he fell face-first on the carpet. He groaned and punched the floor in frustration.

He remained panting for breath where he lay, inhaling the dust of the carpet. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. Should he stop and allow his body to recover, or keep pushing until he got it right?

He probably had to take a break, but he could not really afford to. He'd spent the three previous days doing just that.

After his fight in the ring he'd gone to sleep with a very simple and efficient plan in mind: get some rest and start training first thing in the morning. However, come morning, he had been forced to admit that his genius plan was out of the window. He'd been in so much pain he could barely move. The light bruises of the previous day had turned dark and aching. His right eye had been swollen shut, his limbs had been spectacularly stiff and his abs hurt every time he'd tried taking too deep an inhale.

He had allowed himself a few more hours of rest, hoping it would be enough but, the more time that passed, the worst he felt. His muscles had pulled painfully at even the simplest movements, every part of him'd hurt to the touch and, more importantly, he had suspected he had taken sick: his head had felt heavy and his nose had been either clogged or running. All in all, he had been a wreck.

That had been on Wednesday. Now it was Saturday and, to his displeasure, it had taken him three whole days to start feeling a little better. His body still ached and he had to blow his nose every now and then, but he simply could not waste any more time.

He glared at the ceiling. He really had no clue what to do. He had never been in such a situation before. Back in Egypt, he hadn't _tried_ to strengthen his body; it had sort of happened. Living had meant toughening up, whether he'd wanted to or not.

He wiped the moisture from his forehead. He should have paid more attention during Ryou's gym classes. If he had, maybe he wouldn't be at such a loss now.

He groaned and pushed himself to a sitting position. Perhaps he should make peace with the idea that, come his next fight, he would take the beating of his life and lose the match. It wouldn't be such a tragedy, anyway. He'd still get paid. The rest would be just pain.

He huffed in disdain. Losing was not an idea he could easily make his peace with. Hell, he'd once sold his soul to secure his victory over the Pharaoh, he couldn't just shrug now and-

A rapping at the door startled him out of his thoughts.

He blinked, taken by surprise. So far, he'd had no visitors in his humble little room. That had been one of the good things about this place: hardly anyone ever bothered him.

The rapping sounded again, curt and impatient.

"Coming!" Bakura growled and clambered to his feet. He opened the door and found Enki standing outside, his intimidating mass taking up all of the space on the threshold. "Oh. It's you," Bakura murmured.

Enki looked down in that way of his that made his eyes look way too small. "Boss-man wants to see you."

Bakura frowned. "Ishido? What for?"

"Go see for yourself." Enki turned around and made to leave, but paused. He looked back at Bakura. His small eyes travelled from the yami's rumpled t-shirt to his hair. "Make yourself presentable," he suggested, indifferently enough for it not to sound like an order.

"Sure," Bakura shrugged.

"Don't take your time," Enki added, a bit more sternly, and left.

Bakura rolled his eyes and closed the door. He retrieved his black hoodie from among his messy bed covers and put it on, noticing that it had started smelling a bit. He really needed more clothes. He made a mental note to go out and obtain some later.

He checked his reflection in the small, stained mirror that hung on the wall. His hair was wild, tufts falling messily over his eyes or sticking out defiantly. Perfect.

The rest of him did not look so good. The large bruise on his nose had started fading in sickly green and yellow hues. Same thing around his right eye, all the way to his cheekbone. He looked gruesome. He brought a finger to his cheek and hissed in pain when he touched his skin.

Well. There was not much he could do to make himself more presentable—not unless he knocked at the rooms next to his and asked the girls for some make-up. Which he was not going to do.

He footed his shoes on, grabbed his key and stepped out of his room.

It was Saturday morning. Both the club and the gambling den were closed so early in the day, so the building was relatively quiet. The old floorboards creaked under his feet as he climbed down three floors. He crossed paths with a couple of girls who bid him good morning in silky voices—which Bakura ignored—and a few men in black suits who said nothing and stared at him from behind their black glasses—something which Bakura also ignored. Once he reached the ground floor, he found Enki sitting at the post next to the entrance. Bakura headed the opposite way, to the huge double doors that led to the main hall of the _Golden Egg._

He pushed the door open and hues of red assaulted his eyes.

"Ah! Mister Bakura!" a voice chimed pleasantly.

Ishido was sitting at the bar and beckoning at him. Next to him sat that weird, color-encrusted woman he had met there on his first day. Bakura scowled at the sight of her, but approached nonetheless. Two of Ishido's bodyguards were standing a few feet away, staring him down in a way that suggested they'd break his spine if he so much as blinked the wrong way. Ishido's smile, however, was sufficiently relaxed and pleasant.

"Please, come closer," he called once he saw Bakura keeping a wary distance. "I suppose you have met Madam Nana?"

Bakura did not look at her. He could tell that she was watching him intently, practically eating him with her eyes.

"Yes, I've had the pleasure," he said acidly.

She clicked her tongue and re-arranged her shawl with a flourish. "Ishido, you should take better care of such treasures," she said disapprovingly, all but scolding him. She turned to Bakura with a worried, almost motherly tone. "Who marred your face like this, darling?"

Bakura felt his mouth twist at the term of endearment. He did not deign to answer.

Ishido chuckled lowly: a rehearsed, light sound, designed to ease the conversation on. "Mr Bakura here is one of my fighters."

Madam Nana gasped loudly and brought a hand to her heart.

"Surely you must be joking, Ishido! You put a face like _that_ in the ring? Such a waste!"

"Now, now, Nana," Ishido shook his head with a smile that could oh-so-easily be mistaken for an affectionate one. "If I let you, you'd keep everyone up here."

She let out an indignant laugh. She fixed her shawl again with a rattle of her bracelets. "You always take the best ones, Ishido. You know that. Don't rub it in my face." She looked back at Bakura and sighed longingly. "Such a face... With a bit of coaching, you'd easily become my star attraction."

Bakura shivered in disgust. "I prefer the ring, thanks."

She burst out in high-pitched giggles. "And that bite on him! Oh, you've got to let me have him once you're done with him, Ishido!"

"We'll see, Nana," Ishido replied with calculated nonchalance. He brought his glass to his lips and took a sip from an amber liquid.

"You asked to see me?" Bakura growled with little effort to hide his impatience.

"Ah, yes, yes," Ishido said with a small jolt, as if he had only just remembered the reason for Bakura's visit. He motioned one of his bodyguards to approach and kept an arm outstretched. The bodyguard placed a small flat box on Ishido's open palm.

"Mr Bakura, you are now officially my employee. A part of the team, if you will. And that comes with certain... privileges," he smiled around the word sweetly. "You get a safe place to stay and food whenever you want it. You get to have a satisfactory income-" Bakura had to keep his eyes from rolling at that, "and you get to have my _support_ in all your endeavors."

Bakura was not tempted to roll his eyes this time. Ishido's smile wasn't fooling him. It wasn't made to.

"You have the privilege to have me and my men back you up and protect you, should the need arise. If you need us, you just call and we'll be there. You'll find that I'm a very considerate boss. I am very protective of my employees. No harm will come to you—as long as you are part of the team, of course." Ishido's smile widened enough to reveal teeth. Bakura's body locked up by instinct, like a cat tensing before a potential threat. "However, it is only fair that our employees honor the team spirit back. Which means that _—_ should you be given the chance to _—_ you should be ready to defend your teammates, or even me."

Bakura's look darkened. Despite the fancy language, the meaning behind Ishido's words was clear: _you do what we say, when we say it. As long as you abide by our rules, we won't harm you._

Ishido extended the box towards him. Bakura reached out to take it, very careful not to touch the other man's fingertips in the process; some part of him hated the idea of making contact with Ishido's skin. He weighed the box in his hands, eyeing it suspiciously as Ishido spoke again.

"This, Mr Bakura, is another extension of your privileges. With this, you'll be able to reach either me or my colleagues at all times."

The box turned out to be a small case. Inside was a smooth rectangular... surface of some sort. It looked like a small screen. Bakura lifted it from the case and inspected it, turning it around a few times.

When he glanced up again he saw Ishido watching him, saccharin smile still in place. Bakura raised a questioning eyebrow.

"It's a phone," Ishido explained.

Bakura stared in bemusement for a few seconds. A phone? Was this what phones looked like in this age?

He swallowed his confusion as fast as he could and replied with an arrogant, "I know," because he hated looking ignorant but, _oh Ra_ , he did not know. He looked at the sleek black screen again. How was he supposed to turn it on?

"Do you know how to use it?" Ishido asked, politely enough but with obvious mocking undertones.

"Of course I do," Bakura scoffed. He slipped the 'phone' in the back pocket of his jeans as casually as if he had always owned one.

"You'll find my number in the contacts. Please, feel free to call me whenever you need me. In return, I will feel free to call you in the instance that I need your help. In case of emergencies I should be able to reach you. So please, keep this phone on your person _at all times_." Ishido's eyes glinted. It was a warning.

This phone wasn't meant for Bakura's convenience, but for Ishido's. It was a means to locate him and keep the leash nice and short.

 _Privileges, my ass_ , Bakura thought.

It could have a tracker in it. It probably did.

He hated the damn thing already.

Ishido's eyes were still glinting in a way that made Bakura's instincts scream at him to be alert. "I think you understand, Mr Bakura, how much it will sadden me if I try to contact you and find that I am unable to."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Bakura grit out.

"Good. Then we have an understanding." He clapped his hands once and turned to the woman next to him. "Madam Nana, is there anything you would like to add?"

Madam Nana, who had been silent and still throughout their exchange, shook her head. "You have been thorough and eloquent as ever, dear. Although I do think you are a little too... strict. I think Mr Bakura should know that I am a much more lenient boss." She flashed a parody of a smile to Bakura. "My proposition still stands, in case you change your mind, darling."

"Yeah, great, thanks."

"Excellent," Ishido said brightly. "Mr Bakura, you may spend your time as you please until your next fight. Please, feel free to entertain yourself in our facilities, should you wish to." He indicated the club around him with a small wave of his hand.

"Sure. Thanks."

"Dismissed."

Bakura turned on the spot and left as fast as he could, without a backwards glance or a goodbye. Once he was alone in the corridor, he took the phone out and examined it more closely. How in the name of Bastet's gilded sandbox was he supposed to use this thing?

He huffed in annoyance and walked along the corridor. When he reached the staircase that led to the upper floors, he paused. Enki was still on guard duty. Bakura quickly changed his mind and made his way towards him.

"Hey."

Enki lifted his eyes from the newspaper he was reading.

Bakura held out his new phone. "Can you show me how to use this?"

Enki looked at the phone. Then back at Bakura.

"It's just a phone."

"Yeah, I know," Bakura bristled. "Can you show me how to use it or not?"

"You don't know how to use a phone?"

"Well, I do, but this one has no buttons!"

Enki lifted his eyebrows. He considered Bakura for a moment. In the end he set his newspaper down.

"Alright. Let me see it." He extended his hand. Bakura gave him the phone and stood close, ready to record his every move.

It took him the better part of an hour to get the hang of this new device—which turned out to be, indeed, a phone. After the tech lesson was done, he pocketed the thing and murmured his thanks to Enki, who just shrugged and said "I was bored, anyway."

Bakura returned to his room on the third floor, ignoring everyone he met on his way. Once he was behind his door, he took out the phone again and fumbled with it. He managed to open its case after a few tries and set to look for anything that seemed like a tracker. He found nothing, which was to be expected since he had no idea what a tracker looked like. He definitely had lots of research to do, especially if he planned to start stealing again.

He paused his fumbling. An unpleasant thought crossed his mind.

Would he have trouble with Ishido if he started stealing again? Or was it against the rules?

He scowled the moment he thought that. Even wondering about such a thing was an offense. He had never cared whether he would be allowed to do something or not. The King of Thieves had never needed permission for anything.

He let out a sharp laugh that hovered in the stale air of his room.

Ishido could not forbid him a thing. His rules were a joke. He gave him a room and a phone, and he thought the King of Thieves was his? Childish illusions. Bakura would only play his game for as long as it served him to do so. He wasn't Ishido's pawn; it was the other way around. He would use this inexperienced criminal for shelter and food and cash, and that's that. He had no care to lick Ishido's shoes for a place in his goon squad.

After all, he was planning to be out of there for good first chance he got. Until then, he guessed he could pretend to play by the rules and let Ishido believe he's the boss. It might be even fun to do so.

So, according to his dear 'boss', he was free to spend his time however he pleased. No limitations. And what Bakura really wanted right now was to shake some rust off his fingers.

Training would have to wait for a bit. He had a point to prove.

He got to his feet with a smug grin and stretched his back. It was time for the Thief King to go hunting.

* * *

Domino was vast, full of color and noise. Mazes of alleys were crammed between the main streets, and the city's many lights cast many shadows. Bakura liked Domino quite a lot. Even in the past, he'd found it pleasant to slither across its deep alleys or perch on the high rooftops. It was a place where hiding in plain sight was easy; a city with more secrets than it would care to admit.

He prowled the streets with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and the cold of December ruffling his hair. A fat wallet was in his jeans' pocket, resting against his phone.

Stealing had been delightfully easy this time around. He had tucked his hair in his hood and lurked in the shadows for a while, unnoticeable and discreet, like a snake blending in its surroundings. His victim had not not even noticed that something had gone amiss; Bakura had relieved him from his wallet, quick and swift like the wind, and then he'd left before the man had realized he was not alone in that alley.

Now Bakura's hair whipped freely around his face as he strutted down Domino's main commercial street. He held his shoulders square with renewed confidence, grinning to himself like a satisfied fox. The wallet he'd stolen held a remarkable amount of cash. There were also credit cards, but these were far too traceable for his liking—he'd probably get rid of those later.

He peered at the numerous store-fronts, trying to decide what best use to put his loot in. He definitely needed a coat, but he had to find the right one. He kinda liked Ryou's old trench-coat: it had billowed in a nice and dramatic way, ideal to create an intimidating image-

He paused in his tracks, gaze glued to a shop window. He ignored the various articles of clothing on display and focused on the one item that stood out: a leather jacket, placed with careful casualness on the shoulders of a mannequin.

Bakura ruled out trench coats in an instant. He gazed at the black leather with yearning, already picturing himself in it. _Oh_ , he'd look good in that. And he didn't even have to steal it. He had more than enough money. He proudly flicked a few tufts off his face and walked in the store.

He left half an hour later, laden with bags full of new hoodies and pants. He was already wearing his new leather jacket and yeah, he looked _damn good_ in it. He admired his reflection against the shop windows, adjusting the jacket and ruffling his hair a bit more. Even with the bruises prominent on his face, he was proud of the image he had managed to create so far. He was feeling more and more like himself.

His next stop was a shoe store for a pair of black combat boots, which he also put on immediately. Socks followed and, lastly, underwear. By the time he was done with shopping, it was late in the afternoon. The sun was sinking in the west, and a sharp cold had started settling over the streets. Bakura decided to treat himself to a late lunch before heading back to the _Golden Egg._

 _All of this is quite mundane_ , he pondered around a mouthful of sandwich.

He was walking along the crowded sidewalk as he ate, causing the reproachful glances of the passers-by, but he paid them no heed. In any other given minute, he would feel the familiar pinch of twisted satisfaction that came whenever he managed to provoke somebody, but this time he was too troubled by his thoughts to care.

His shopping bags knocked against each other as he walked, heavy with possessions he had acquired almost legitimately. He'd never gone shopping before; such normalcy had never had a place in any of his lives. This had been a peaceful sort of afternoon. Pleasant, even. And it disturbed him. Surely he hadn't been brought back just to have a good time.

Around him people were bustling along their ways, most of them carrying shopping bags and talking to each other cheerfully. Bakura watched them with something akin to suspicion. If there was something that was expected of him, someone should pop up any minute now and give him a clue. It was about time. He munched a bit of ham, half-expecting someone—or something—to stop him.

Nothing did. Bakura kept strolling along the sidewalk, and everything kept being normal.

This wasn't right.

At least, the phone Ishido had given him hadn't rang yet. He took that as a good sign. Everything else about his situation was plain frustrating. He hated that he had no idea what was going on.

He stuffed the remainder of his sandwich in his mouth and chewed at it thoughtfully.

He guessed he shouldn't be so bummed out that nothing ominous had happened yet. Perhaps he should take that as a clue to enjoy himself and stop stressing about it. But he did not _want_ to. He hadn't really signed up for this. He couldn't just brush it aside and fall into a routine and a normal life, with a job, a home and shopping sprees on Saturdays. He wasn't supposed to; he was supposed to be _dead_.

What he really had to do was find out more clues about his situation. At the very least, he had to figure out the answer to one of his main questions: was he the only one back? Or had more yamis returned? Say... the Pharaoh?

This question had been circling his mind for days, drifting in an out of focus. To him, it seemed highly unlikely that he'd be the only one to return. At least the Pharaoh _had_ to be back, too. It would be an awfully tasteless joke on the Gods' part if they had not allowed their beloved son to be reborn, especially after giving a body and a second life to a hated miscreant such as himself. Not to mention that Bakura's existence had always been interconnected with the Pharaoh's, so...

No. That was not true. Their lives had been connected with the Millennium Items and Zorc and, subsequently, with each other. And so far Bakura had not caught so much as a whiff of Zorc. He was gone, beaten, banished. He knew it in his bones.

He huffed. He was getting nowhere just thinking about it. He had to take action.

Next step: find out whether His Majesty's pompous ass was resurrected, too. If yes, demand answers. If not... figure something out.

If the Pharaoh was back, it should not be too hard to find him. Chances were he'd be with that Mutou boy, and how hard would locating the runt be? The Mutous used to live at that funky game shop. Even if the shop was not there anymore, it should only take Bakura a couple of innocent questions to work his way to Mutou.

He could remember where the game shop was, more or less. The city might have changed and expanded like a spider's web, but he he was confident he could still make his way around. And, if his navigating instincts were right, to get to the game shop he should turn left and-

His tracks slowly came to a halt. He made no attempt to turn to the game shop's direction.

He looked at his left hand. He was clutching the handles of three paper bags, palms balled around them. The skin on the back of his hand was tightly drawn, dry flesh ready to crack at the cold. The scar at its center gleamed like silver in the dying light of the afternoon.

Finding Mutou might be the logical thing to do. It could be considered wise, even. But it did not _feel_ right. His instinct told him that this was not the correct course of action—and Bakura had always been a man to rely on his instincts.

Making for the Pharaoh's vessel felt like moving away from the key to all his questions, not towards it. Instead, he felt that what he had to do was to find... Ryou. And he did not like that.

He clenched his left fist even more tightly. His nails sunk in his palm. He kept looking at the scar, lost in deep thought.

Perhaps there was some kind of logic behind this hunch. Perhaps it wasn't entirely unjustified. After all, no matter which way he looked at it, everything pointed to Ryou.

He was reborn within one-minute walking distance from his hikari. He could have woken up in any place in the world, or even any random spot in Domino, and yet he was thrown face-first on the pavement before Ryou's home. Bakura definitely wasn't naive enough to believe this had been a coincidence.

Then came the very real and pesky case of his body. This was another fact that he couldn't write off as a coincidence. If he was was ever told he would be reborn, he would expect to be brought back in his own body. Alright, maybe asking for his original form would be too much; after all, the Thief King's skin had been left to dissolve in the sands of Egypt more than three thousand years ago. Even so, it was evident that he wasn't reborn just as any person. He was not granted with a clean slate to restart his life. He was brought back as Ryou's yami, specifically to fulfill this role, as it seemed.

Everything led back to Ryou. Frustratingly so.

So, whatever the reason for his return, it definitely had something to do with his former host. Ryou might not have actively played a part in bringing him back, but he was the key to this. There was no other explanation. And Bakura would be damned if he didn't figure this out.

However, this posed a problem of its own. Ryou had not seemed inclined to listen or talk to him. He seriously doubted his hikari would be willing to cooperate and figure out the answer to this riddle, no matter how politely he asked.

Of course, he could always submit him into cooperating. He could intimidate him, threaten him, or even entice him to work with him. He was his yami after all; he had known Ryou ever since he was a child. He knew his deepest fears and desires, knew the way his mind worked. Manipulating him should be a piece of cake.

Bakura scowled to himself. He did not want to admit it, but such a plan did not seem all that appealing. He had no particular care to bully Ryou into working with him. Hell, if he could, he wouldn't bother at all; not just with Ryou, but with any of this. He'd just be in the afterlife, doing afterlife stuff and being fucking peaceful for once.

Plus, it was possible that this time around he wouldn't be able to pull such a behavior off so efficiently. Bakura's power had always relied on knowing Ryou inside-out, and thus knowing exactly how to pull his strings. However, the Ryou he had met a few nights ago was not the Ryou he remembered. His host had seemed... changed, somehow.

Of course, their first encounter had been too brief for a well-rounded evaluation, but Bakura was not counting on first impressions alone. A big clue of the change was the skin he was currently wearing. The Ryou he knew would never allow his body to reach such levels of neglect. That being said, there was no denying the malnutrition, the lack of exercise and the profound exhaustion that was embedded in his limbs. Ryou had never been a gym freak or anything, but he had been keen on keeping himself healthy, even with a yami messing with his schedule and habits. Not to mention that a couple of cigarettes had been more than enough for Bakura to realize that this body was no first-timer when it came to smoking. Or drinking, for that matter.

It both intrigued and troubled Bakura. He could not help but wonder what could have intervened for his host to expose his not-so-gracious side. He had to find out. Not only out of curiosity, but out of necessity: if Bakura's return had anything to do with his host, it was only logical to find out as much as possible before working out an explanation.

But he would still have to act stealthily. He couldn't just up and chat with his hikari or ask him for information. His coward of a yadonushi would probably call the cops the moment he spotted him. Or he would try to throttle him again, or something.

Either way, it would be simpler for Bakura to just observe from the shadows. Keep his distance and reach to the bottom of this himself. It made sense even when looked from the practical side of things: if Ryou still hung out with his old friends, he could lead him to the Pharaoh just as efficiently as the Mutou boy. All Bakura would have to do was watch his hikari for a while and inevitably get all the answers he needed. Two birds with one stone.

He smiled to himself, satisfied, and broke to a determined trot. With a bit of luck, he'd locate his hikari within the hour.

* * *

Unfortunately for him, it took him longer that he expected to find Ryou's place. He remembered the general direction, and he was certain he'd recognize the place once he saw it, but there were so many streets he was bound to make a wrong turn. Or twenty.

It was dark when he finally found the right street. He spotted Ryou's apartment block, the door he had banged on, as well as the piece of pavement he had lied upon on his first minutes. He'd expected a twinge of triumph, but all he felt was relief; he'd been wandering around Domino for at least two hours.

He squinted at the building before him. Amidst the confusion of his rebirth he hadn't noticed, but this was not the building Ryou used to live in when he had the Ring. This one looked definitely older and somewhat ran-down. The whole neighborhood was drab and a bit dreary: there was no green, nor any of the modern buildings that adorned downtown Domino. There were a few shop signs blinking shyly, but half of the stores on the street seemed indefinitely closed, with their fronts graffitied over their metal shutters.

Bakura's nose scrunched in mild disdain as he glanced around. The brat's taste had definitely deteriorated over the past years.

He tucked his hair safely in his hood and kept his head low as he approached Ryou's apartment building. Once he reached the main entrance, he peered at the little tags on the doorbells. He found the one that read _Bakura Ryou, 5th floor_ and smirked at it.

Now what? Should he ring to see if his beloved host was in? That did not go down very well the last time.

He looked again at the street around him. He noticed there was a narrow alley not far from where he was standing. It looked more as an accidental gap between two buildings than a street, and it was barely illuminated by the streetlamps; Bakura had to squint to make out the graffiti on the alley's walls and the trash bags that were strewn across it.

He quickly made his way towards it and inspected it from up close. The air stank of decaying garbage and other, worse things, but that was just a minor inconvenience. The important thing was that it seemed dark enough to conceal a person, and that the mouth of the alley had an unobstructed view of Ryou's apartment building. It was perfect.

Bakura slipped into the shadows and felt the dark slide on him like a second skin. He leaned against the wall of the alley, standing right beyond the line of light cast by the streetlamps, and stared at his target.

The smell of decay was sickly sweet and clung on his nostrils as he breathed. He thought he'd much rather inhale some smoke, so he took out his tobacco bag. He looped his shopping bags around his elbows and set to roll a cigarette, his gaze never leaving the entrance of the building for more than a couple of seconds.

If anyone entered or left the apartment block, Bakura would see it. Now all he had to do was wait. His yadonushi was bound to make an appearance soon.

* * *

 _Soon_ had been quite optimistic.

Bakura groaned and checked his phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Six hours had passed and his hikari had yet to appear. Midnight had rolled by quite some time ago and Bakura was growing sick of waiting.

He threw his cigarette butt on the ground, put it out with the toe of his boot and prepared to leave. He would go back to his room, get some rest and return early in the morning.

He had nearly slid out of the safety of his hiding spot when a familiar white head popped up at the far end of the street. The yami withdrew hastily, cursing under his breath. He flattened against the wall and made sure he was as concealed as possible by a heap of trash bags.

Ryou came into view a minute later. He was walking along the pavement, eyes downcast and hands in his pockets. Every now and then he lifted his head and glanced around and over his shoulder. When he walked by the alley, his eyes lingered on it for a moment; Bakura held his breath until his hikari finished his inspection and moved along. He saw him unlock the building's entrance and get in as fast as he could.

A minute later, one of the dark windows on the fifth floor bathed in light.

Bakura waited until the window went dark again. After his hikari had presumably gone to sleep, he left. He returned to the _Golden Egg_ tired, hungry, cold, and more satisfied with himself than he ought to have been.

After a few short hours of sleep he was back on his feet. He wrapped himself in the warmest clothes he owned, stepped out and managed to be outside Ryou's place before the clock showed 7 a.m.

This time he'd come fully prepared for an entire day's stake-out: he had half a dozen energy bars in his pockets and a bag full of tobacco, courtesy of a poorly guarded 24-hour convenience store. He found a finely shaded spot in the alley and set to stare at Ryou's apartment building like a watchful hawk.

Ryou showed his face approximately two hours later: he opened the door a bit, stuck his head out and scanned the street with eyes still puffy from sleep. Then he took off hastily, casting nervous glances around.

Bakura's lip curled. His hikari seemed alert, but not enough to notice him. He guessed some things didn't change: older or not, the brat remained as useless as ever. Still, Bakura let the distance between them grow for good measure before shooting out of his hiding spot and trailing behind Ryou.

He soon noticed that his hikari was headed downtown; more specifically, he seemed to be moving towards the shopping district. Bakura glanced from Ryou to his surroundings, perplexed. It was still too early for shopping. Most of the stores were closed, their shutters still rolled down. What business did his hikari have there this early in the day?

His question was answered when Ryou walked up to one of the major clothing stores, not far from where Bakura himself had been shopping the previous day. The shutter was rolled down only halfway and lights glinted beyond; apparently, the morning shift was getting everything ready for the day. Ryou slipped under the shutter and entered the store.

Bakura stood outside, a few feet away, and narrowed his eyes at the store front.

Was this where the brat worked? He had expected something... fancier. An office at some company, perhaps.

 _Heh... Figures_ , he thought, smirking malignantly. Ryou Bakura, one of his school's top students, working at a store. Oh, his asshole of a father must be really proud.

The downside was that, if Ryou indeed worked here, Bakura was in for several hours of waiting. He had no means to know exactly how long Ryou's shift would be, but he was not willing to stand outside for, say, eight hours. That would be ridiculous.

He memorized the street and the name of the store and left. He hurried back to the _Golden Egg_ for an ever-frustrating training session that stripped him of whatever confidence he had managed to build the previous day, took a quick shower and an even quicker lunch, and left again. When Bakura returned to the shopping district, it was already early in the afternoon. The streets had grown busy and too noisy, but this served the yami just fine.

He slipped into the crowd outside Ryou's workplace and tried to peek through the glass front as discreetly as possible. A glimpse of his hikari's white hair was enough to affirm that he hadn't clocked off yet, so he moved away to find a new hiding spot. Once he found an appropriate corner, he made himself comfortable and waited.

Hours ticked by slowly and tediously. The sun had just dipped below the horizon when Ryou emerged from the store, looking exhausted and grumpy. He walked straight back to his apartment, unaware of the shadow that followed him, and did not leave again for the rest of the day.

Even though that first day of stalking had brought no significant results, Bakura kept at it for the rest of the week with commendable determination. Every day without fail he walked his hikari to work, then ran to the _Golden Egg_ to cram a few hours of training and made sure to be back in time to catch Ryou finishing his shift.

He quickly realized that his former host led an immensely boring and repetitive life. He'd go from home to work and back, sometimes stopping for groceries, and that was it. He did not meet with friends, not did anything remotely interesting. It was both baffling and irritating. Bakura could not fathom how someone could tolerate such blandness, neither could he see how this could in any way related to his return from the dead. He could see no ties, no matter how hard he tried to.

The only intriguing instance had been on Wednesday morning.

Instead of going to work, Ryou had headed off to the other side of town and walked into a huge building that had looked like a school, or university, or something. Bakura had braced himself for a few more hours of waiting, but there'd been no need for it: Ryou had walked out again unexpectedly fast. He had looked equal measures aggravated and upset and had nearly stomped his feet all the way back home. When he left to go to work that afternoon, he had been too distressed to glance behind his shoulder as often as he used to.

And that had been the highlight of the week.

When Friday evening came around, Bakura had to admit that he had few things to show for six days of stalking. All he'd learned was that his former host worked at a store at least eight hours a day and that he was probably some kind of student.

No more clues. No leads to anything significant. Not even a tiny hint as to how Bakura's presence related to this—unless he was supposed to act as an intermission in Ryou's stupendously dull life.

He grumbled at himself as he was sitting huddled up on his watch-spot across from Ryou's workplace. He glared at the figures moving in the store and tightened his hold on the hot paper cup in his hands. That day he had discovered the merits of take-out coffee, so he was currently emptying a cup of the most extravagant beverage he'd managed to find: a concoction of coffee, whipped cream, various syrups, marshmallows and colorful sprinkles. It certainly looked scary, but it tasted pretty damn good.

He bit into a pink, spongy marshmallow as he checked his phone for what he hoped would be the last time that day. Thankfully, it was past 9 pm, which meant the working day was coming to its close. All along the street, lights were being turned off, trash bags dragged outside, shutters rolled down. The shopping crowd had dissipated a while ago; the only people around were tired employees on their way home.

With the stores closed, the street sunk in the feeble half-light of the shop signs. Clouds started gathering in the dark sky overhead, and Bakura distantly wondered if he'd need to steal an umbrella for the walk home.

He finished his beverage and set his paper cup down. His back was aching from sitting curled up for so many hours, but his hikari was bound to show up any minute now. The shutters were already halfway down and his co-workers were leaving one by one, so this shouldn't take much longer.

As if on cue, all of the store's lights went out. Only the spotlights of the shop windows remained on, casting their soft illumination on the faceless mannequins.

A couple of employees slipped outside, shouted their good-nights to each other, and left.

The street remained empty and silent. No sign of Ryou.

Bakura fiddled with his paper cup, keeping his gaze decidedly fixed at the store across from him. Surely the brat wasn't planning to spend the night there? Or had he realized he was being watched and left through a back door? No way—Ryou was probably still inside.

Perhaps something was wrong. Perhaps he should go check.

Bakura got to his feet, but did not leave his spot just yet. He noticed that a single light was still on somewhere in the depths of the store, so he took that to mean that Ryou had not finished work just yet. He groaned out loud and ran a hand over his face, but he had no other choice than to remain hidden and wait some more.

His patience was tested for another twenty minutes until, finally, there was a bit of shuffling and the sudden slam of a door.

Ryou walked outside, looking distinctly more bad-tempered than usual. He grabbed the shutter and pulled it all the way down; it slid into place with a loud rumbling noise and a bang, and Ryou stooped to lock it. Once he crouched, he remained there, elbows on his knees and head hanging low. He let out a huff deep enough to be audible across the street.

The yami wrapped himself more securely in the shadows and watched.

Ryou made no move to leave. Instead, he turned around and sat down where he was, at the front steps of the closed store. He rested his back against the shutter and sighed. Long, thin fingers brushed his hair back, revealing drawn and bony-white characteristics. Bakura had less than a second to take in his hikari's tired face before his bangs fell back in front of his eyes.

Ryou's fingers moved towards his jacket pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and picked one. The click of the lighter echoed faintly across the street; the small orange flame it conjured was tremulous in his hands. He lit his cigarette and inhaled.

Bakura had become so accustomed to the sensation that he almost felt the smoke drifting down his own throat. Still, he scowled at the sight. He had suspected that Ryou smoked, but seeing it did not make him particularly happy. If anything, it felt wrong, somehow. He tried to tie out the picture of the Ryou he had in his head with the Ryou before him, but his hikari and the smoke that hovered like a halo around his head were two things that did not really mix.

Bakura grumbled again and leaned heavily against the wall, tapping his foot. The sight irked him, but he couldn't take his eyes off of it. The smoke swirled around Ryou's hair, blurring the edges of his face. Against that mundane backdrop, he seemed like a spectral apparition: a fleck of ethereal white clad in grey.

The yami scoffed and shook his head. He wasn't there to gaze at his hikari as if he were sight-seeing. It was stupid and he was growing sick of it.

In fact, there didn't seem like there was much more to learn about Ryou and his boring life. The guy was a sad wreck, just like he'd always been, only... older and with different habits. Bakura still couldn't see what any of this had to do with his return.

He huffed and folded his arms across his chest.

Across from him, Ryou's form visibly relaxed. He leaned his head back, letting it rest against the shutter, and closed his eyes. The aggravated lines on his face smoothed out; smoke slipped slowly from between his lips, danced over the tip of his nose, and dissolved.

Bakura glowered at the sight for a while longer. Then it dawned on him.

This was the first time his hikari actually sat still in a place where Bakura could approach him. The first time he'd let his ever-existing guard down. Hell, he wasn't even scanning his surroundings in that obsessive manner of his.

It might be Bakura's chance to finally make some progress. He could walk up and confront Ryou, see if anything would come out of it. If not, who knew how much longer he would have to sneak around before finally coming across a useful clue? If there were answers to be found through his host, Bakura could draw them out.

Besides, it could be fun. He could see this as an experiment. Even if he learned nothing about the Pharaoh, he could at least see just how much it would take for this new, older Ryou to bend to his will.

Yes. That sounded like it was worth a shot. Judging by what he'd seen that week, it wouldn't be too difficult. Ryou was likely to fight back a bit, of course, but that wouldn't be surprising: he had always fought back, one way or the other, but his alleged boldness had never been more than childish rebellions.

...Sure, last week Bakura had found himself at the wrong end of a chokehold, but that didn't worry him. It had been a one-time incident, caused by his own momentary weakness and confusion. There was nothing Bakura would not be able to handle now.

He pushed himself away from the wall, ran a hand through his messy hair to mess them up even more and put on his good smirk.

 _Showtime_.

He slipped out of his hiding spot and crossed the street.

Ryou did not notice him approaching. He still had his eyes closed, breathing smoke out as peacefully as if he were sleeping.

Bakura stood a few feet away and made sure his stance was as casual as it got before speaking.

"That's bad for you, you know."

He could probably have come up with a better opening line, but even so the effect was instantaneous: Ryou jolted as if hit by electricity and jumped to his feet.

Bakura wouldn't have been surprised if Ryou simply turned around and ran away as fast as he could. Hell, he'd half-expected him to do so. He kinda wanted to see the old, familiar fear bloom in Ryou's eyes; it would be proof that he hadn't lost his touch.

Ryou did not run away. He put some distance between them, just enough to be out of reach, and then stood there; his cigarette dropped to the ground, rolled away and remained smoldering on the pavement.

All previous peacefulness disappeared. The lines in Ryou's face changed; his white bangs framed eyes narrowed into slits. He wasn't afraid. If anything, he looked angry.

The clouds overhead were growing more dense; the air carried the faint smell of rain. Bakura breathed in deep and smiled.

"Fine night, isn't it?" he said pleasantly.

Ryou's face twitched.

"I was wondering when I would see you," he replied. He did not look the least intimidated; he looked straight at his yami, his fists clenched at his sides.

Bakura straightened his body in an even more confident stance.

"Aw. You've been thinking of me, yadonushi?"

At least the rage that contorted Ryou's face was satisfying.

"I was simply wondering what you've been up to," he shot back.

"That's so thoughtful."

"Cut the crap," Ryou spat.

Bakura pretended to blink in surprise. "Language, yadonushi. What happened to your manners?"

Ryou ignored the sneering remark. "Did you follow me?" he asked sharply. He still didn't seem to contemplate making a run for it. That was... interesting. Bakura wondered for how long he could keep him there.

"Maybe," he said with a smirk.

Apparently, Ryou took that as a definite _yes_.

"For how long have you been following me?" he demanded, the shadows in his face sharpening.

Bakura's smile widened into a poisonous grimace. "Long enough to realize that you remain as oblivious as ever, yadonushi."

For the first time, something like genuine alarm flickered across Ryou's features. Bakura relished his hikari's momentary panic, almost feeling it on his tongue.

Ryou's face changed quickly, crumpling back into a mask of hate, and Bakura faltered despite his will.

He'd always known Ryou's face better than Ryou himself. He had spent years studying it, to the point where he could read the meaning behind the slightest shift in its expressions. He'd taken pride in that. And yet, now that he was standing this close, he could spot alien characteristics on what should have been a familiar sight.

On Ryou's face, tired lines mixed with the deeper, angry ones. Shadows nestled up against the deep hollows in his cheeks, contrasting with his pale skin with disconcerting intensity. The softness Bakura remembered was gone; harsh angles had replaced it.

The yami's eyes travelled over the rest of the details he hadn't noticed up until then. Scuffed sneakers. Weathered jacket. Ryou looked haggard, worn, and too thin for his clothes. He'd look like a dead man walking if it weren't for the hatred that had set his eyes ablaze.

"Why are you following me?" Ryou snapped once the silence stretched on for too long. "What do you want?"

Bakura examined him. Not only Ryou did not run away or cower in fear, but he was asking questions. Well. Ever since he was a child, he had always had some kind of... morbid curiosity. Apparently, that hadn't abandoned him yet.

In this case, it suited Bakura just fine.

"I have a few questions," he said.

Ryou didn't speak. His face was so firmly set his muscles must hurt. He waited for his yami to go on.

For some reason, this bothered Bakura. He hadn't expected this to be this easy. This was almost a conversation. So far, he hadn't even needed to threaten him.

"You are surprisingly cooperative, hikari," he remarked. "I could almost believe that you missed me."

"You follow me around and I wanna know why. So spit it out."

Something in Ryou's voice reminded Bakura of himself. He brushed the impression away.

"I wanna know what is going on," he said.

Ryou raised an eyebrow. It was a cold expression, taunting. "What do you mean?"

"I mean _this_ ," Bakura opened his arms wide to indicate both himself and his surroundings. "Why am I here? What happened? And who else is back?"

Ryou's mouth twisted into a derisive smirk. "Why don't you ask your good ol' dark pal?"

Bakura tried to ignore how out of place that smile looked on Ryou's face. "If you mean Zorc, he's gone," he said shortly.

Ryou considered this for a second. Then his cold smirk widened. "Sure."

Bakura felt a twinge of annoyance. "He _is_ gone. I'm just by myself in here."

"Whatever you say..." Ryou murmured, voice maddeningly distrustful.

"Alright, look, I don't care if you believe me," Bakura snapped. "Just answer my question already."

Ryou stared at him. "Is that all?"

"Yes."

"Hm." Ryou stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Sorry. Can't help you with that."

He turned his back on his yami and made to leave.

Bakura's blood surged to his head. Without thinking it twice, he reached out to grab Ryou's arm before the latter had time to take more than one step away.

The second his yami's fingers made contact with him, Ryou whirled around with surprising readiness. His hand shot out of his pocket and Bakura caught the gleam of something metallic in the blur of the motion. He back-stepped on instinct and froze about two feet away, staring.

Ryou's knuckles were stark white as they gripped the hilt of a pocket knife. The blade glinted in the half-light, its tip pointing steadily towards Bakura.

If Ryou had been angry a while ago, he was damn furious now: his face was so contorted it was unrecognizable. He glared at his yami and growled in a voice that did not belong to him.

"Don't touch me."

Bakura's mind went numb. His muscles locked, leaving his body stuck in time for one long, still moment. All he did was glance from the small blade to his hikari's face, trying to process the image of a world turned upside down.

Then the second ticked away, and anger followed.

"What is that, yadonushi?" he murmured, menace lurking under his soft tone. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Touch me again and I might," Ryou spat.

The yami smiled and he felt his face twist, muscles pulling into a grimace meant for demons.

"Don't make me laugh. You cannot hurt me." He nodded towards the knife and his smirk turned savage. "You're not even holding it right."

Ryou's glower hardened. He clenched the handle of his pocket knife with renewed ferocity and looked his yami straight in the eyes. "Stay. Away. From me," he warned, stressing each word.

Bakura's smirk crumbled. "Answer my questions and I will," he said.

"You have some nerve, thinking I will help you," Ryou ground out through clenched teeth.

Bakura had started growing tired of games.

"I'll ask one more time, yadon-"

"Fuck off."

Bakura's hand shot out and grabbed Ryou's outstretched arm right at the base of the wrist that was holding the knife. Ryou let out a startled gasp and tried to recoil, but Bakura kept him in place, clenching his hand in a grip he knew had to be painful.

For a second, Bakura saw in Ryou's eyes the fear he'd been expecting to witness; he saw his young host again, terrified, lost, alone, just the way he'd seen him a million times before. The silence in his head stirred uncomfortably.

Zorc would do it. Zorc would pry that knife from his hand. He'd make Ryou cry out in pain and embarrassment. He'd make him feel like an idiot for going against him. He would stomp his backbone back into dust and show him that he was as weak as ever.

Bakura wasn't Zorc anymore.

He was gripping Ryou's wrist so hard it was sure to bruise.

Ryou's eyes were wide and staring straight at him. He saw it all flicker in their depths: desolation, recognition, resignation. There was no pang of triumph at that. No satisfaction. There was just a scared boy in front of him, with wide brown eyes and a bony-white face. Ryou wasn't even fighting his grip.

It crossed Bakura's mind that he did not need to clutch at him so hard; Zorc would, Zorc would force the answers out, but he did not need to, he-

Ryou's eyes changed. He kept them trained on Bakura, but their focus shifted. It was almost as if he looked through the yami, out to something farther away.

Then, out of all things, Ryou smiled. It wasn't an actual smile; it was a ghastly upwards curve of lips, softening the edges of his features into something akin to relief.

"Fine," he said in a murmur that sounded abnormally soft; detached. Ryou's fingers opened and let the small knife drop. It hit the pavement with a small rattle that echoed dully between them. "There," he said in that same tone that sounded like he was miles away. "Do what you will."

Bakura felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

He let go of Ryou's arm. The knife glinted in the edge of his vision, but he did not so much as glance at it.

Numbness started spreading from the pit of his gut to his limbs. He looked at the figure of the boy— _no_ , the man before him, the man with the white hair and the frozen gaze, and felt his brows draw together involuntarily.

What the fuck was Ryou doing?

He could take the knife and threaten him into submission. Knives were like the extension of his hand; armed with one, he was unstoppable. He knew it, and Ryou knew it.

Ryou knew it, but he didn't care.

...Could it be that Ryou really meant that? Or was he bluffing?

He must have been bluffing.

"What the hell are you doing?" Bakura said, trying to hide his apprehension.

"What?" Ryou asked piously. He nodded towards the knife; the motion was so small his hair barely moved. "Take it. Don't pretend you don't want to."

This wasn't the plan.

This wasn't _right_.

Ryou had never given up arms; even when he'd known it was hopeless, he had kicked and screamed and that had been why Bakura had been forced to either imprison him in his own mind or threaten him into cooperating.

Now Ryou stood there, waiting patiently and carrying the most disturbing of expressions. Bakura almost wished he would go back to looking hateful, or even sneering; anything, as long as he stopped smiling like that.

He took a step backwards, away from his hikari and the knife that lay at his feet. "Are you an idiot?" he hissed. "Pick it up."

Ryou didn't move. He arched both his eyebrows at Bakura, his gaze shifting back into focus. When he spoke, his voice was low and strangely calm.

"You shouldn't go to such lengths to intimidate me if you don't really mean it."

Bakura frowned. What the hell—was Ryou _disappointed_ or something? Would he really prefer it if Bakura reached for the knife and-?

"Pick up your damn knife," he repeated.

Ryou's eyes narrowed. He breathed out a chuckle that was like a shard of ice.

"You could at least have the guts to finish what you started," he said dryly.

With a repulsed twist of his nose and a scoff, Ryou finally moved. He walked past Bakura, making sure to knock hard against his shoulder as he did so, and walked away without looking back.

The impact made Bakura take a step backwards, but he did not react in any other way. He simply stared at him, unblinking.

Neon colors bounced off Ryou's white tufts as he moved away with slow strides. Deliberately slow ones. If Bakura wanted to, he would be able to catch up easily. He could take the knife and respond to his hikari's open invitation to inflict pain and suffering. Ryou did not even look back once to see whether his yami was indeed ready to pounce on him or not; he kept his head low and his shoulders hunched, just the way he always did, and traced the same steps as every night.

"What the fuck?" Bakura breathed between his teeth.

He curled and uncurled his fingers in the night's chill, hardly feeling how cold they had gone. He did not dare blink. He watched Ryou's figure slowly grow distant and small, weaving through shadows and brightly colored lights.

Ryou didn't glance back. When he didn't bother to lift his gaze to check the road before crossing it, Bakura let out a deep, throat-grazing growl.

Did that idiot really have a death wish? If he kept his head hanging like this and that dejected slouch in his shoulders, he would get himself killed, that was for sure. He made himself a tantalizingly easy target for every kind of scoundrel roaming these streets.

Bakura let out an annoyed grunt and rubbed a hand over his face.

Well, if Ryou got himself mugged, he wouldn't be entirely undeserving it. And, if was so indifferent towards his life and his safety, why should Bakura care? What was it to him?

He grit his teeth and scowled at the white head at the far end of the street.

If the brat was so keen to throw away his life, Bakura would let him. It was none of his damn business.

None. At. All.

He peeled his gaze off Ryou with vicious determination. It was high time this joke ended. This whole affair had been a fiasco from day one.

He could hear the sound of thunders rolling in the distance. He turned his head towards the sky and took a deep inhale of the heavy, humid air. If he wanted to get back to his room dry, he'd better hurry.

He made sure to pick up Ryou's little knife and pocket it before he left.

* * *

Ryou closed the door of his apartment with a slam that reverberated through the walls. He locked it hastily and proceeded to turn on all lights and check every corner, even the cupboards. Once he was satisfied with his inspection, he went to the window.

While walking back home, he had glanced behind his shoulder only once. Admittedly, it had taken a few minutes for his survival instincts to kick in and persuade him to make sure he was actually safe. That one time he had glanced back he hadn't seen his yami following him, but that meant nothing. Ryou had learned his lesson.

He gazed out of the window, scanning the view. There was nothing beyond sudden flashes of lightning, but he would not let the apparent emptiness of the street fool him. Not seeing Bakura did not necessarily mean that he wasn't around. For all Ryou knew, his yami could already be in the building.

The moment that thought crossed his mind, he rushed to the door, unlocked it and pulled it open abruptly. The threshold was clear. He held his breath and tried to listen, expecting to hear harried footsteps on the stairs or the clattering of the elevator.

There was nothing. The silence was absolute, except for the sound of the television from a nearby apartment and the buzzing in his own ears.

He closed the door again, locked it, and then kicked it just for the sake of venting; he heard the pathetic thing rattle in its hinges. He slammed the bolt furiously, wondering if that and a lock would be enough to keep his asshole of a yami outside.

Perhaps he'd have to install more of them. A dozen should do the trick. And then perhaps he should bolt the windows, too. Or board them shut.

...As if that would make any difference. If Bakura decided he wanted to get in, a few bolts wouldn't discourage him. If he decided he wanted to harm Ryou, there'd be no one to stop him. Before him, Ryou was simply helpless. That was the ugly and indisputable truth: he would never have the upper hand, no matter how many knives he was holding or how hard he glared.

He laughed to himself; it sounded bleak and dry in the stillness of his apartment.

Pathetic. He was pathetic. He'd thrown his knife at his yami feet, ready to succumb to his fate rather than help the bastard, and now he was cowering, trying to think of the best ways to hole up in there and hide. He had told everyone he could handle Bakura—that he could handle _this_ —but he was proving himself wrong with every passing minute. Hell. He'd already broken the promise he'd given Malik a week ago.

He rushed to the little kitchen with an infuriated huff. A headache had started blooming in his skull, making the buzz in his ears throb in sync with it. He did not pause to think it twice before reaching for the vodka bottle. He wiped some of the dust on his sleeve, unscrewed the cap and grabbed a short glass. Normally he'd get some ice, too, but at the moment he was beyond making the effort. He poured as much of the clear liquid as his patience allowed him and downed it all in one big gulp. He didn't even taste it.

He poured himself a second glass, emptied it again, and finally stood still for a second. He placed both fists on the kitchen counter and let his head hang.

...That _bastard._ For how long had he been waiting for the chance to sneak up on him like that? For how long had he been lurking in the shadows, waiting for Ryou to drop his guard? And how could Ryou have been stupid enough to allow such a thing to happen?

That was the worst part: he couldn't really put all of the blame on his yami. Bakura was an asshole, but that was nothing new. He had just acted the way an asshole like him would. But Ryou himself... That was an entirely different matter. He was way too easy to blindside. Even his yami had said so when Ryou had asked him for how long he'd been following him.

 _Long enough to realize you are as oblivious as ever, yadonushi._

His words echoed in Ryou's ears as clearly as if his yami were standing next to him. Or, even worse, as if he were in his head.

He groaned, annoyed with himself and his goddamn naivety. _Nice work, Ryou,_ he thought scathingly.

He really needed to get a grip. He had to calm down and finally start acting like he _could_ deal with this situation.

He poured another glass of vodka, grabbed it and moved back to the window. He checked the street again.

"Show yourself, you fucker," he hissed.

He jumped when his phone rang. It took him much longer than normal to realize where the sound was coming from, as well as that it wasn't some kind of threat.

He reached for it with shaking hands. _Malik._

He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. He took a big, hopefully calming breath. Then another.

His first thought was, _Don't tell Malik a thing. Not a thing._

What would he say, anyway? That he met his yami and provided him with the means to kill him without batting an eye? He could imagine Malik's reaction and it wasn't something that he could deal with. He couldn't deal with any sort of reaction right now, actually.

He took another deep breath and answered the phone.

"Hey, Malik," he said in as casual a tone as he could muster. It still came out sounding clipped, but it was good enough.

 _"Hey, Ryou. You okay?"_

Ryou held the phone a few inches away and huffed. Nothing escaped Malik's notice. But no matter. Ryou had years of experience in pretending.

He softened his voice and said, "I had the worst day at work. I'm exhausted. What's up with you?"

 _"Well, I've got news."_

"What kind of news?" He managed to sound sufficiently interested.

 _"About the Spellbook."_

"Any progress?"

 _"Oooh, yes. We know who's behind the whole operation. We have a name and an address."_

Ryou remained silent. His first, impulsive thought was that he really did not give a damn right now, but he had a change of heart in a matter of seconds.

Perhaps that book was the only efficient way to fight his yami. Knives wouldn't cut, nor locks or threats, but this...? A step closer to the reason why Bakura was back meant a step closer to finding a way to get rid of him once and for all.

He gripped the phone hard enough to hear his nails scrap the plastic case.

"I'm all ears."

.

.

.

.

.

 **Author's note**

 _ **OMG IT'S DONE FINALLY DONE *dies***_

 _ **Seriously, that was harder than I thought. I thought Bakura's first proper meeting**_ _ **with Ryou would**_ _ **be a piece of cake buuuut... guess what. It wasn't. I tweaked that scene again and again until I decided that was as good as it'd get without me taking a month-long break to let my brain clear and relax. Sooooo here it is~**_

 _ **And... *clears throat anxiously* In the previous chapters I had mentioned that these events took place in late December. Well, I actually sat down to write a detailed timeline and realized that my calculations were a bit off. In short: the story starts in December, but not *late* December. For those of you who are interested enough for the actual dates, the spirits' return takes place in Monday, December 6, the meeting took place in Tuesday the 7th, Bakura went out for shopping the same day Ryou met Malik at 'The Crow' (Saturday the 11th) aaaand lastly, the confrontation of this chapter is on Friday the 17th.**  
 **(...and yes, Malik's birthday in on the 23rd!)**  
 **At some point, I'll go back and fix the "late December" part in the previous chapters. Sorry for the confusion! (please put down the pitchforks!)**_

 ** _Thanks to everyone for the amazing feedback! I still can't believe how many people enjoy this story! You guys make my day with your comments and your support! *hugs all around*  
Also TENDERSHIPPERS, THINGS ARE IN MOTION, REJOICE_**

 ** _I'd love to know what you think about this chapter! Please, drop by, hit that beautiful review button and let me know!_**

 ** _Until next time, take care everyone! :D_**


	12. Sympathy for the devil

**Chapter 12: Sympathy for the devil**

Bakura was lying on his bed with his gaze fixed on the dark ceiling. Outside, the sky did not seem tο feel like making up its mind, so it alternated between heavy bouts of rain and a light drizzle.

It could be considered either very late in the night or very, very early in the morning—and it was a peak time for the _Golden Egg_. The music in the club was so loud that the thin glass of the windows rattled on the beat, even three floors up. The whole building seemed to reverberate.

During his first nights there, Bakura had found that annoying. It had taken a few days to get used to it and learn how to tune it out, but tonight... He kinda welcomed the distraction.

He huffed and let his head roll to the side. On the top of his nightstand lay Ryou's knife, gleaming innocently in whatever light drifted in from his window.

For the fifth time that night, Bakura shot to his feet and started pacing his room.

He'd come to the conclusion that the person he had talked to a few hours ago—the person he'd been following all week—was not his host. It could not be his host. Some form of magic must have taken place. Whatever brought Bakura back from the dead must have teared the fabric of reality and altered the world he'd known into something foreign. There was no other explanation.

He rubbed his eyes. He was beyond tired, but some weird kind of stress kept his heart beating fast and his blood rushing.

It had not taken long to realize that grogginess and tension was a combination made in hell, but he'd still get it over closing his eyes and letting his mind _drift_. Because every time _that_ happened, his thoughts steered towards the time he spent in the Ring.

And some thoughts they were proving to be. All he could remember was anger and resentment. Those two feelings had been the core of everything; either multiplying and growing into rage and blinding hate, or simmering in the background as annoyance and a general sour feeling towards everyone and everything.

Looking back, it seemed incredibly... one-dimensional. As if his self had been compressed and squeezed until he had become nothing more than one layer of condensed spite. Everything else had become insignificant, irrelevant, and impractical.

There was, however, something worse than that.

He could remember the boy.

He could remember how his presence had felt warm and supple. Pliable. Bendable. Truly an ideal host.

Bakura had been a writhing, gnarly ball of hatred, and he had disguised himself by hiding his thorns under the velvet of that boy's soul. His host had been the soft padding to take all the blows instead of him. And it had been convenient. It had been effective. One could even say it had been cruel.

Ryou had fought him, in his own way. He'd fought by covering and embracing the barbs in his soul so that they wouldn't hurt anyone else but him. He'd been a shield protecting both sides. And still, even though he had darkness pressing in on him at all times, Ryou had been Ryou until the very end.

He had been the kind eyes in the mirror. He had been the gentle smile where Bakura would snarl, he had been the delicate touch on everything that Bakura couldn't handle without destroying.

He hadn't been the person Bakura had met yesterday; not that angular creature, sharpened by hate and spite.

He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair.

He remembered the shape Ryou's eyes took when trained on him; hating and then cold, dispassive, indifferent.

Bakura didn't know why it bothered him so much. If it had been anyone else looking at him like that, he would have shrugged it off and kept on his way. He might have even been amused by it. He certainly wouldn't have ended up pacing his room like a caged animal.

But that was the point: it hadn't been just anyone. It had been Ryou.

His eyes found the small knife again.

Something, somewhere, had gone terribly wrong. And perhaps that why he was back. Nothing made sense otherwise.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. He needed sleep. He was overthinking because he was exhausted, and he wouldn't get to clear his head unless he slept. That was all.

He forced himself to lie down again and ordered his brain to _sleep_.

All he achieved was to keep staring at the ceiling and listening to the distant beat of music until the club quieted down. When he finally dozed off, he did not manage to stay asleep for more than ten minutes before jarring images made him jerk awake. The light outside his window gradually grew stronger, until the night gave way to a grey morning and Bakura declared sleep as a lost cause.

He needed coffee. And he needed it badly. He decided he did not have the energy to put on his boots, so he padded downstairs in his socks, grumpy and disheveled and stifling yawns behind his palm. He considered it a personal achievement when no one tried to strike a conversation with him.

The _Golden Egg_ 's kitchen was as popular as every morning: the light buzz of a dozen sleepy voices filled the air, most of them coming from a long table in the corner. Bakura squinted to protect his eyes from the light that felt too harsh and merciless and made a beeline for the coffee pot. He grabbed a cracked mug and filled it, taking a look around with bleary eyes.

He spotted a tattooed bulk sitting at the edge of a table. After a few blinks he identified said bulk to be Enki reading a newspaper and munching at a bagel. Bakura took his mug and made his way towards him.

"You look like shit," Enki said instead of a greeting.

Bakura set his mug on the table and dropped in the empty seat next to him.

"Yeah, thanks for your input."

The steam that rose from his mug had a weird smell. Not all that appealing. When he took a sip, he almost gagged: it tasted like burnt dirt.

He rose to rummage around the cupboards for sugar.

"Didn't sleep well?" Enki asked in the indifferent, almost bored tone he always carried.

"I slept great."

He sat back down and started spooning an outrageous amount of sugar in his coffee.

"You look like shit," Enki repeated and resumed reading.

Bakura scoffed and stirred at his coffee, staring unhappily at the swirling black liquid.

A glance towards Enki's watch revealed it to be nine-thirty. Normally, at this time he'd either be outside Ryou's apartment or following him to work.

What a major failure that plan had turned out to be. He guessed he should be content that he no longer had to hang about freezing streets.

He felt his mouth twist in a sour grimace, so he drank some more coffee. The sugar had done little to improve the taste.

"Something on your mind?" Enki asked, eyes fixed on the newspaper.

"No," Bakura growled, thinking of Ryou's face and Ryou's stupid knife and Ryou's stupid cold glare.

He decided he _was_ content that he no longer had to follow him around. He had all day to himself. He could do something productive for a change. He could try to locate the Mutou boy and see if a certain obnoxious Pharaoh was with him.

...The prospect did not excite him in the slightest, but it would certainly be better than sitting in his room and sulking.

"If it bothers you enough to make you lose sleep, do something about it," Enki said; he'd spoken in such an absent tone Bakura wasn't sure if he'd actually been talking to him.

"What?"

"I said. Whatever it is, if it bothers you so much, do something about it."

Bakura lowered his head to scowl at his mug. "Nothing bothers me," he growled under his breath.

Because it was true. It did not _bother_ him. Enki had no idea was he was talking about.

What was there to do, anyway? As far as Ryou was concerned, he'd done everything that was in his power, and it hadn't worked. There was nothing more he could do without making things worse. If he tried to talk to him again, Ryou might fling himself off a bridge or something, just to spite him. Bakura definitely thought him capable of something like that.

He downed his coffee in as big gulps as he could manage so as not to taste it.

He replayed Enki's words in his head. _Do something about it._

He scoffed out loud, but said nothing more. He stared at the cracks in his mug, where coffee had seeped in and turned them black.

There was nothing to do. His host was a dead-end. Engaging with him would be the exact opposite of being productive.

The entire day stretched before him. Endless hours to spend however he pleased.

This day, and then the one after it, and the one after.

Every day, until he found out why the hell he was back. _If_ he ever found out at all.

Endless days, during which he'd be nothing more than a lost soul; a shadow severed from the body that cast it, with nothing to tie him to a world where he did not belong, serving no purpose, reaching no goal. No answers. No rest.

"...Oh, fuck this," he hissed. He set his mug down and rose from his chair.

Soon after, he was outside Ryou's apartment.

* * *

Unbeknownst to his yami, Ryou was currently a few miles away, sitting curled at the edge of Yuugi's leather couch. Malik was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, not far from him. Atem and Yuugi were huddled together on the other end of the couch, while Jounouchi had claimed the rest of the living-room for himself by spreading his gangly limbs across every available surface.

Ryou hugged his knees and rested his chin on them. Raindrops thrummed against the apartment's wide glass front. He stared at the rain and the occasional thunder and hugged his knees even tighter. This weather was good news; it meant that his yami would have a harder time following him. Hopefully.

In the middle of the living-room stood a pot of coffee, but all their mugs lay cold and forgotten. They were currently passing Yuugi's smartphone from hand to hand, so that they could all get a good look at what was displayed on the screen. At the moment, the phone was on Atem's hands, who was staring at the screen with a somber look on his face. Ryou knew what the Pharaoh was looking at: the image of a well-kept and quite handsome gentleman nearing his seventies, with neat grey hair and sparkling blue eyes.

"So," Jounouchi said, breaking the brief silence, "to sum up. We have this guy, this mister Thomas Bur-"

"Thomas Blackwood," Malik corrected him.

"Yeah, him. We have this rich, famous gentleman kind of guy, who is funding the whole Millennium Spellbook project."

Malik confirmed this with a small dip of his head.

"He has demanded absolute secrecy," Jounouchi went on, "which means that no one except his very special team and a few high-ranking Council of Antiquities officials know about this project, right?"

"Exactly. At least, no one else was _supposed_ to know," Malik added, looking pointedly at themselves.

"Right," Jounouchi said. "So, he's sending off millions to pay for the project-" he started counting with his fingers, "he is letting no one else near the Book, and no one has access to either the workshop or the files concerning the project."

"Yes," Malik said grimly.

"To his defense," Yuugi intervened, looking at his phone's screen over Atem's shoulder, "he appears to be some kind of archaeology enthusiast. He seems to have funded several similar projects."

"Yes, I saw the articles, too," Malik said. "But he has never done so under such suspicious circumstances. He has always worked in collaboration with the local authorities and other archaeologists."

"Not to mention that, this time, he is not dealing with just _any_ archaeological find," Atem said brusquely. "He has a powerful magical tool in his hands."

"Yes, but..." Yuugi said, biting his lip. "Can't we just ask him nicely _why_ he's so interested in the Spellbook? He might not know how dangerous it is-"

"Ishizu tried, many times over," Malik said. "I think we are done 'asking nicely'. This guy definitely acts like he has something to hide."

"I agree," Atem said.

"Look at this," Yuugi said, taking his phone in his hands and scrolling down. He started reading out loud. " _Thomas Blackwood funds the construction of Holy Trinity Hospital... Thomas Blackwood to fund the renovation of the National Gallery..._ blah blah blah _... Supports young artists... Builds new orphanage..._ There are articles upon articles about his donations and charity events. The list seems endless." He looked up, his violet eyes wide and unsure. "He doesn't seem like a bad guy."

He passed the phone to Ryou, even though he'd already seen the list once. Ryou accepted it and looked at the article Yuugi had left on display. It showed a picture of Thomas Blackwood standing before a magnificent building and wearing a suit that probably cost more than what Ryou earned in a whole year. Under the picture, the header read _Sir Thomas W. Blackwood at the inauguration ceremony of the Blackwood Gallery of Antiquities and Fine Arts._

Ryou shook his head. "Don't let any of that fool you. Every rich person makes donations like these. It's just a strategy, for tax allowance and a good public image."

"I dunno, Ryou," Jounouchi mumbled. "Seto donates great sums of money to orphanages and schools, and I know for a fact that he doesn't give a damn about taxes. Nor his public image, for that matter," he added with a shrug.

"Kaiba might not give a damn, but others do," Ryou insisted, giving Yuugi back his phone.

"Are we _sure_ that he is the one funding the Spellbook project?" Yuugi asked, still looking unconvinced.

"Yes," Malik replied. "That's the one thing we know for sure."

Yuugi deflated and fell back into the cushions. "Okay. I guess we can consider this a clue. It's better than nothing."

"It's all Ishizu could learn," Malik said with an apologetic wince. "She had trouble coming across more information. And, from what I've gathered, the Council is not happy with her prying so much."

"Then she should probably step back," Atem said. A frown sharpened his eyes and he looked at Malik with utmost seriousness. "This man could be dangerous. We don't want her in his bad books."

"How are we ever supposed to learn more without Ishizu?" Jounouchi cut in.

Atem's shook his head. "I don't know, but I don't want anyone in harm's way."

"Sis can take care of herself," Malik said with conviction. "She knows how to avoid unwanted questions, but... She's not supposed to know this much about it the first place. She can't go asking around about it much longer."

"Atem's right," Yuugi said. "Ishizu has done enough. It'd be better if she drew no more attention to herself."

"Yeah, guys, that's very noble and everything..." Jounouchi said with a skeptical frown, "but how are we supposed to deal with this without her?"

Malik gave a sideways glance at Ryou. "I guess we... take matters into our own hands."

Ryou noticed his friend's look and their conversation from a week ago flitted through his head.

"Okay. I repeat: how?" Jounouchi insisted.

"We recruit Kaiba," Ryou said simply, echoing what he knew to be Malik's thoughts.

Jounouchi whirled around to look at him as if he were crazy. "We recruit _whom?_ "

"Think about it," Malik said with an enthusiastic spark in his eyes. "We know that Blackwood wants the Spellbook. We know he has money and power. Probably friends in high places, too. I think it is safe to assume that it will be hard to tackle that without similar resources. So..."

"If resources is what we need," Yuugi caught on, "then Kaiba is our best chance."

Jounouchi chuckled and shook his head. "You guys know that Seto will just scoff in our faces, right?"

"Perhaps he won't," Malik said with an all-too-knowing look.

Jounouchi's smile gave way to an offended pout. "Hey, I hope you don't expect _me_ to convince Seto. Because, let me tell you, the man's a handful. I can't convince him to do the simplest things, let alone-"

"I'm not talking about you, Jou. I'm talking about the Pharaoh."

At the mention of his person, Atem's head snapped up. He found everyone looking at him.

"Oooh, that's right," Jounouchi mumbled, eyes going wide.

"What about me?" Atem asked.

"Well, I think you might be the only person that could ask Kaiba a favor and actually achieve something," Malik said.

A perplexed line appeared between Atem's brows. "Why me?"

Jounouchi burst out in laughter and rolled on the carpet, hugging his belly. "Oh, man, don't you remember Seto?"

"Yes, but-" Atem stopped talking as realization hit him. His puzzled frown turned to a disbelieving one. "You don't mean to say that Kaiba is still caught up in our... rivalry?"

"That's exactly what we mean."

Atem turned to Yuugi with an expression that suggested he considered all of this a farce. "Is it true? Even after so many years, is he still...?" He trailed off, looking at Yuugi questioningly.

Yuugi gave him half a smile. "Oh, you have no idea."

Atem still seemed unconvinced, but Yuugi's reply seemed to be enough for him. He turned back to the group. "So you want me to... What? Challenge him to a duel in exchange for his help?"

"Yup!" Jounouchi said cheerfully, rolling back up to a sitting position and spreading his legs in front of him.

Atem shook his head. "I'm not sure about this, but... I'll see what I can do."

"Alright!" Jounouchi exclaimed and punched the air. "The game is on! With Seto on our side, this Blackwood guy won't stand a chance!"

Yuugi took Atem's hand in his and gave it a small squeeze, eliciting a fond smile from the pharaoh.

Ryou looked away from the pair and back towards the rain.

Yuugi and Atem didn't seem to notice how evident they made their affection for each other. It seemed to flow out of them as effortlessly as breathing. Ryou was happy to see this kind of bright light back in Yuugi's eyes, but... Seeing Yuugi and Atem so close only served as a sore reminder of his own situation.

However. Jounouchi was right: if Kaiba agreed to this, then there wouldn't be much that would be able to stop them. And if they got their hands on the Book, Ryou might be able to get rid of his yami once and for all.

His gaze got lost in the horizon. The rain had diminished to a drizzle, but the clouds showed no inclination towards dispersing. All the worse for his yami.

His lip curled in vindictive satisfaction.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, though," Malik said. "We still don't know _why_ Blackwood wants the Spellbook so badly, nor if he actually used it."

"Or plans to use it," Yuugi added.

"Well, that's just part of the puzzle, isn't it?" Jounouchi said with a wide grin. "It's just something we'll have to solve! One more big adventure, just like old times!"

"Someone's fired up," Yuugi giggled.

"Yup, and the bad guys'd better watch out!" Jounouchi said, pointedly flexing his biceps. "Katsuya Jounouchi is out to get them!"

"What about us?"

"Oh, fine. Katsuya Jounouchi and Co."

Among the laughter and the banter that erupted, a timid and quiet voice reached Ryou.

"Are you okay?"

"Hmm?" he started, prying his gaze away from the window. Yuugi was looking at him, face soft with concern.

"You've been awfully silent today. Are you okay?"

"Oh. Umm... Yeah. I'm fine, I just... I haven't been sleeping well lately," he blurted out, trying not to think how he hadn't slept _at all_. He added a smile, just in case.

Yuugi made a sympathetic grimace. "It's... understandable." His eyes flicked back towards Atem, almost like a reflex.

Ryou felt the urge to look away again. He didn't, but his fingers clenched around the fabric of his jeans.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay with one of us?" Yuugi went on. "Just in case-?"

"No," Ryou said firmly. "I'm fine, really."

In the background of his thoughts, his yami mocked and sneered at him, and he tried to push the image away. He had decided to let no one know about last night. If they learned what happened, they would worry—especially Malik—and Ryou didn't want them to fuss. He would deal with this in his own way, in his own time. He _had to_ , just to prove to himself that he could.

Yuugi seemed to realize there was no point in pressing the matter, so he simply said, "You should try to get your mind off things for a while, though."

Ryou shook his head. "We're finally making some headway-"

"Yup, and you'll still be involved, but... You should rest a bit."

"I could say the same for you," Ryou deflected, pointedly looking at Yuugi's tired eyes and dull skin.

Yuugi rubbed the back of his head and chuckled. "I know... But- Hey!" he exclaimed suddenly and his whole face lit up. He looked around at his group of friends with a big smile on his face. "This week is launch week, so there won't be much for me to do at work. How about we all do something together?"

"Game night!" Jounouchi shouted at once.

"I was thinking of something like a welcome party for Atem," Yuugi said, flashing a smile to the pharaoh. "We never welcomed him properly-"

"There is no need, aibou-"

"No, no, Yuugi's right!" Jounouchi butted in enthusiastically. "We should throw a party!"

"Wait," Yuugi turned to Malik. "Your birthday's coming up, too!"

Malik smiled shyly, looking both flattered and a bit taken aback. "Yeah, it's on Thursday."

Ryou felt his stomach drop.

Of course. The 23rd of December. Malik's birthday.

With all that had been going on, he had totally forgotten about it. A few weeks ago he'd started making a miniature replica of Malik's bike as a birthday gift, but after the impromptu reappearance of his yami, it had flown from his mind.

He took a deep breath. He shouldn't panic—he still had time. He would go back home and work on Malik's birthday gift right away; he would work through the night if necessary.

He started mentally going through a list of all the materials he was missing to finish the miniature, distantly aware of his friends making arrangements for a party on Thursday night. Jounouchi yelled and whooped, shouting about a double party and double the cake, while the rest laughed and pondered over snacks and the guest list. Malik joined in with genuine delight and a faint blush on his cheeks, smiling and laughing along with the others.

Ryou watched him and felt his own chest warm up a bit. He could not think of a person more deserving for a bit of celebration on their birthday day than Malik; he deserved presents and cake and friends and laughter to make up for all the birthdays he spent without them. He thanked Yuugi inwardly for bringing this up and went back to listing crafting supplies.

If he wanted everything to be ready on time, he'd have to adhere to a pretty tight working schedule; so, when Jounouchi got up and said he should get going because he was invited to Shizuka's for lunch, he grabbed the opportunity.

"I'd better get going, too," he said and rose, privately calculating how much time he would have for miniature-painting before leaving for work.

"I can drop you home, if you want," Malik offered, wide grin still on his face. "It looks like the rain has stopped."

Ryou looked outside to confirm this and his heart sank. On the other hand, if his yami was on his trail again, he'd definitely lose him if we were on Malik's motorbike.

"Sure. Thanks," he said.

"I don't have a second helmet with me, but I'll drive slowly," Malik said with a grimace as he got to his feet.

"Alright," Ryou replied with a reassuring smile.

He went to the hallway to put on his sneakers, while Malik lingered a bit to talk about party arrangements. Ryou was tempted to go ahead on his own and check the street for any sign of his yami, but he rejected the idea. It would seem too suspicious; Malik would definitely demand to know why he was acting so strangely. He waited until Malik had put in his boots and his heavy biker's jacket, bid goodbye to everyone, and left.

Contrary to the old, claustrophobic box of Ryou's building, Yuugi's elevator was modern and roomy; they rode it down in silence, Malik still smiling faintly.

Outside, a red motorbike was waiting for them. As Malik took some time to put his helmet on, Ryou glanced up and down the street as inconspicuously as possible. He spotted nothing suspicious.

A stray raindrop splashed on his cheek and he turned his face towards the sky. It looked like it would start raining again soon.

He put his hood on and climbed on the bike behind Malik.

* * *

Bakura was standing in the familiar alley across from Ryou's place, watching the dull front of the building while grumbling to himself.

He hadn't managed to come across a satisfying excuse as to _why_ he'd returned there _._ He had taken Ryou's knife with him as an excuse. At first he'd told himself that he was there only to return it and nothing more; that he would hang around the building until the area was clear, then he'd leave the knife outside Ryou's door and go.

Two hours had passed and the knife was still in his pocket, resting against his knuckles. The area had been clear all morning, but he'd made no move towards the building. He simply stood in the alley, trying his best to avoid the rain.

It was almost noon and so far Bakura had spotted no signs of life from his host. His windows were closed and the curtains drawn. Nothing had moved behind them.

He had started wondering whether Ryou was actually in. It was highly probable that Bakura was watching an empty apartment. His host could have spent the night at a friend's house. Or he could have indeed been mugged on his way home; he could be laying somewhere, beaten and unconscious and-

Bakura's back snapped straight the moment that thought crossed his mind. He squinted at the dark windows, trying to pierce the curtains with his gaze.

Perhaps he should try ringing the doorbell and see whether Ryou would answer. Not that he gave a fuck whether his host was alright. He just wanted to make sure that he wasn't wasting his time.

He hesitated. Ringing the doorbell was tempting, and breaking in was even more tempting, but...

He huffed and grumbled a few more curses under his breath. He could not understand why ringing a doorbell seemed so intimidating.

The distant rumble of an engine caught his attention. It seemed to be approaching, so Bakura pulled his hood low and ducked behind a trashcan. Seconds later, a red motorbike with two riders came into view΄τhe engine thundered down the street until the bike came to a halt right in front of Ryou's apartment building. The noise died with a sigh.

Bakura immediately recognized the second person on the bike. He would recognize Ryou everywhere, even with a hood covering his trademark hair.

Well, then. The brat was neither beaten nor unconscious in some alley. That was something.

His attention turned to the bike's driver. His face was hidden by his helmet, but his figure seemed vaguely familiar. Bakura wondered if it was someone for the Pharaoh's cheerleading squad. It definitely wasn't the Pharaoh himself, nor the Mutou boy; the man before him was nowhere near short enough.

Ryou climbed off the bike and glanced up and down the street, as per habit. Once he seemed satisfied with his inspection, he said something to the person on the bike and turned to leave. He made for the entrance of the building, but stopped short a couple of steps away.

The person on the bike took off his helmet and an audible gasp escaped Bakura.

"Malik- _fucking_ -Ishtar," he breathed.

Sure enough, there was the Tomb Keeper in all his glory, perched on top of his shiny red motorbike and looking as if not a day had passed: dusky skin, sandy hair gleaming down his back, hint of gold swinging under his ears. All that was missing was the black lines around his eyes and Bakura might believe he was somehow looking through a window to the past.

Malik seemed to be talking to Ryou, who approached the bike again. Bakura was too far away to make out their conversation, but his mind was currently preoccupied with more important matters.

How had the Tomb Keeper ended up in Domino? Last time Bakura had heard of him, he'd been in Egypt, along with the rest of the Ishtars.

He narrowed his eyes. Could it be that Malik was living in Domino these days? Or had he travelled here all the way from Egypt on account of the recent events?

Either way, he seemed to be friends with Ryou. Or at least friendly disposed towards him. As it were, Ryou was having an infinitely more civilized conversation with him than the one he'd had with Bakura the previous night. That was definitely unexpected.

He tried a bit harder to listen in, but it was impossible from that distance. He settled for scowling at the pair. At least, it seemed that this was indeed Malik and not his homicidal alter-ego, which was reassuring.

Ryou smiled to Malik and turned around. He unlocked the entrance to the building and walked inside, waving a hasty goodbye before closing the door.

Malik put his helmet back on and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared back to life.

With considerable delay, Bakura realized that the Tomb Keeper was about to leave. A sudden panic shot through him.

His gaze flicked towards the door of Ryou's apartment building. His host was gone.

His host was gone, and Malik was there.

Malik: his old partner in crime, once despised almost as much as Bakura himself, and perhaps the only person in this world that could approximate his wavelength. Bakura had had no luck with others so far, but he and Malik had once seen eye to eye. It anyone would ever be able to sympathize with Bakura, it would be him.

He faltered.

...Was sympathy what he was looking for, then?

His mouth twisted. No—that was stupid. He just wanted answers.

So what should he do?

He stole a glance towards Ryou's window. There was a chance his host would see him, and he didn't want to be caught talking to one of his friends right outside his apartment. Then again, he shouldn't give a damn about Ryou in the first place.

His hesitation cost him his chance: Malik's bike revved and shot down the street.

"Shit!" Bakura hissed.

He jumped out of his hiding spot and ran behind Malik, all caution thrown to the wind, but it was too late. The Tomb Keeper and his bike had disappeared.

Bakura did not stop. He ran even faster, heading straight for the main street and inwardly praying that Malik would be held up in traffic.

He took a sharp turn, almost slipping on the wet pavement. Once he reached the main street, he staggered to a halt and scanned the road hastily. There were tens of cars zooming by, but no sign of a red bike with a Tomb Keeper on top.

He succumbed to the pain in his sides and doubled over, panting hard. The air felt rough in his throat. He tried to catch his breath with one eye still fixed on the street before him.

It was no use. He'd lost him, and who knew where Malik had been headed at.

Bakura groaned and stepped out of the way of the startled passers-by. He retreated to a side alley to lean against a wall and calm his breathing. It was possible that he'd just lost his only chance to talk to someone who might actually listen.

He rubbed a hand over his face. There was no need to get melodramatic. Surely there was _something_ he could do to find out where Malik was.

First off, he could go back to Ryou's and wait for the Tomb Keeper to put in another appearance. He scrunched his nose and ruled out that option immediately; he was sick of standing around aimlessly. Plus, there was a chance that Malik and Ryou weren't friends. And, even if they were, it might take them a while to meet again, what with his recluse of a yadonushi.

He huffed and tried to calm down enough to think.

He guessed he could look for Malik in the phonebook. There weren't bound to be many Ishtars in there.

This would work in the instance that Malik was indeed living in Domino—or if he had been living there long enough to be registered. Still, it was better than nothing. Definitely a better plan than following Ryou around for no distinguishable reason.

He'd better go back to the _Golden Egg_. There should be a phonebook there somewhere.

He had just started walking again when another idea stroke him. He paused in his tracks.

This was it.

In the _Golden Egg_ was something much more efficient than a phonebook: Ishido.

From what Bakura had gathered, Ishido was the type of person that had the means to track down someone if needed. Surely it wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience if Bakura asked him a small favor. After all, Ishido had told him that he was there _to support him in all his endeavors_.

It was high time this acquaintance started to pay off.

He took out his phone and looked through his contacts. There was only one number registered, and he tapped the 'call' button without hesitation.

He need not wait for long; Ishido picked up on the second ring.

 _"Mister Bakura!"_ he chimed. _"What a pleasant surprise!"_

"Yes, hi," Bakura grumbled. "Listen, I need a favor."

* * *

Bakura's boots splashed through puddles as he hurried across dark streets. He reached a big block of a building that looked suspiciously like an old warehouse and halted before it. The wooden sign above the door was soaked to the point where the carved letters were almost unintelligible. With a bit of squinting he managed to make out the words _The Crow_ and _rock bar_.

He stood at a spot fairly protected by the rain and took out the piece of paper that held all the information Ishido had gathered for him. He glanced from the address written on the paper to the building before him. After he double-checked he was in the right place, he tucked the piece of paper back inside his pocket. He squared his shoulders, pushed open the heavy, soundproof door and walked in.

For such a big place, the inside was unexpectedly warm. It was also loud.

Bakura paused on the threshold for a few seconds, relishing the change of temperature. He took his hood off and shook his hair as his gaze swept the place.

The lighting was low and pleasantly warm, so much that it felt like a caress on his eyes after the harsh, watery lights of the streets. In the soft shadows he made out several patrons spread across couches and benches. Most of their chatter was drowned by the music, but every now and then he could make out loud peals of laughter or excited shouts. Everything in there, from the furniture to the beams that crossed the ceiling, seemed aged. However, unlike the _Golden Egg_ and its decrepit air, this place felt cozy, worn from use rather than neglect.

It wasn't half-bad. It was definitely better than the places Bakura used to frequent as of late.

It took him less than a couple of seconds to spot Malik.

The Tomb Keeper was behind the bar, busying himself with a few drinks. Even in this place, where there was no shortage of unusual appearances, Malik stood out just the way he always had. He was inexorably eye-catching, like a stray sunray in the half-light of dusk. Bakura couldn't help but wonder how on earth that guy had ever managed to keep a low profile.

Still, Bakura frowned at the sight of him.

Malik seemed so... in place. He was moving around swiftly, as if the narrow space behind the counter was his second home. He grabbed bottles without needing to glance at them, flashing smiles left and right while he made small talk. He seemed to flow with the music, earrings and sandy hair swaying in the rhythm.

Bakura buried his hands in his pockets and kept staring from a distance. The impression of the morning returned stronger: as far as appearances went, Malik seemed so unchanged it was almost baffling not to see a duel disk strapped on his forearm or the Millennium Rod sticking out of his back pocket. He wondered—not for the first time that day—if his old partner would be the same in terms of behavior, too. Probably not. After all, nobody went from 'leader of an underground criminal organization' to 'fixing drinks' without undergoing some kind of major change.

Well. That made two of them, didn't it?

Bakura shook his head. Enough standing around. He took a deep inhale to prepare himself, straightened his shoulders and made his way towards the bar. He wasn't sure if he wanted to look indifferent or threatening, so he settled for something between the two. He approached the counter and stood right in front of Malik, assuming his best bored-yet-imposing stance.

And waited.

Malik was way too busy to notice him; he was fiddling with a beer tap, filling one glass after the other and placing them on a nearby tray. He seemed to be humming the lyrics of the song that was currently playing.

He filled two glasses and spun around to place them on the tray. His gaze momentarily brushed over Bakura.

"Oh, hello Ryou!" Malik chirped as he turned back to the beer tap. He grabbed another glass and placed it under the foaming stream of beer.

Bakura's mouth curled downwards.

He could still call this off. He had enough time. He could turn around and leave while Malik was still busy. Walk away as if he'd never been there and forget all about ex-Tomb-Keepers or ex-hosts. He could leave that smiling and cheerful Malik Ishtar in peace and find some other way to make sense out of his situation.

His muscles twitched, legs almost jerking towards the exit, but he forced himself to stay. He cleared his throat.

"I'm not Ryou."

Malik glanced up with a puzzled frown. His gaze flicked twice towards Bakura before his brain seemed to finally catch up with the sight.

Bakura saw the moment Malik recognized him, because the smile slipped from his face. He froze mid-movement. If his mind was racing, he didn't show it; his face was blank. His fingers were still on the beer tap, and foam had started spilling out of the glass and onto the floor.

Bakura's mouth was drier than he would like to admit. He waited for a reaction to figure out what his own attitude should be, but Malik simply stared.

There was no telling if it was the beer soaking his hand that did the trick, but Malik finally snapped awake. His fingers slipped away from the tap. He placed the overflown glass down, eyes still on Bakura. He took a measured, slow step towards the counter and leaned forward a bit.

"You bastard."

Bakura barely heard him over the loud music, but he read the word clearly enough on his lips.

"Hello to you too, Ishtar," he replied.

The sound of his voice seemed to startle Malik, if only for a second.

Bakura expected him to say something, but all Malik did was press his lips into a tight line and whirl around.

He grabbed the glass he'd left under the beer tap, wiped at the foam that had stuck at its sides as best as he could and slammed it on the tray, along with the others. He shot Bakura a warning look—which the yami translated as _'don't you dare move'_ —and beckoned to someone in the crowd.

A waitress approached and Malik pushed the tray towards her. The girl twisted her nose at the sight of the half-dissolved foam in the glasses, but she did not comment on it—probably because she'd noticed the barman's unusually stormy face.

Malik leaned forward and beckoned at her again; she took the hint and leaned in closer, too.

"Tell Reiji to take over for a while, okay?"

The waitress gave him a questioning look but nodded nonetheless. She picked up the tray and left.

Malik turned back to the beer tap. For a second he just stood and stared at the mess he'd made and, once he'd sufficiently braced himself, he grabbed a wet cloth and set to clean the beer he'd spilled. He pointedly kept his gaze away from Bakura, but his movements were jerky and he still carried the same tight-lipped expression.

When he was done cleaning, he threw the cloth in a nearby sink and huffed; the music was too loud for such delicate sounds to be heard, but Bakura saw his chest fall and his posture deflate.

His eyes found Bakura again. Malik approached the counter, laid his palms flat on it and leaned a bit forward to stare at the yami square in the face. His gaze felt like steel, and Bakura wasn't sure if this was better than having a knife pointed at him.

He pushed his fists deeper into his pockets and felt the leather of his jacket stretch against his back.

Malik spoke first.

"So. Did you walk in just to have a beer or did you somehow know you would find me here?"

Bakura's mouth twisted out of habit. "Does it make any difference?" he half-growled, half-shouted to be heard over the noise.

"As a matter of fact, it does," Malik replied with matching tenacity. "How did you find me?"

Bakura decided against mentioning Ishido; something told him that Malik wouldn't appreciate it. He shrugged instead, feeling impulsive smirk tug at the corners of his lips.

"King of Thieves, remember?"

Malik looked wholly unimpressed. He arched an eyebrow in an expression that suggested that Bakura stop fooling around immediately.

"...Fine," the yami grumbled with a resigned huff. "I saw you outside Ryou's apartment and... followed you here."

"Whoa." Malik's eyes flashed in a way that sent all kinds of warning hissing across Bakura's brain. "Let's rewind. _Where_ did you see me?"

Bakura had to keep himself from making a snarky remark about how he'd spoken clearly enough the first time. Malik seemed pissed, and it was way too early to have this come down into an argument.

"Ryou's place," he repeated, louder. "This morning."

"What the hell were you doing outside Ryou's place?"

"What do you think?" Bakura snapped, leaning a bit closer to spare his throat the shouting. "I've been trying to figure out what the hell's been going on."

"And what does Ryou have to do with-?"

"I don't know! I thought _he_ might have a clue!"

"So, you... what? You followed him?" Malik arched both eyebrows in disbelief.

"Well, I can't exactly walk up to him and chat, can I?" Bakura replied, thinking about last night's encounter. "I needed clues. Following him was the next best thing."

Outrage flickered across Malik's so far collected exterior. "In what universe is _stalking_ considered the next best thing?" he said loudly, voice rising above the noise.

"I had no other options!" Bakura shouted back. He leaned over the counter and bared his fangs, ignoring the feeling that he was pushing his luck a little too far. "What would you have me do, anyway? What would _you_ do in my place?"

Malik returned the dark look. Anger simmered in his eyes, but that stood for nothing; the Malik he knew was always angry.

Music came to fill the silence between them. They both stood still, like cats about pounce on each other, or like a storm about to break out.

Malik's eyes narrowed; irritation made his cheek twitch. "What do you want to drink?" he asked, jaw clenched so hard that his mouth barely moved.

Bakura, who was ready to receive either a rebuke or a slap in the face, blinked in bemusement. "What?"

"Do you drink?" Malik asked briskly, already reaching to the shelf full of bottles behind him.

"Err... Yeah, I guess, but-"

"Alright, then."

Malik slammed a short glass in front of Bakura. He poured him two inches of some amber-hued liquid and proceeded to fill a glass for himself.

Bakura frowned at the contents of his glass. This wasn't vodka. He wasn't sure _what_ this was. He sniffed at it, but the scent did not enlighten him.

"For fuck's sake, just drink it," Malik grunted.

Bakura watched in suspicion as the Tomb Keeper brought his own glass to his lips and took a generous swig. Once his reaction convinced him that whatever was in the glass was drinkable, Bakura tried a small sip himself.

He felt the alcohol kick his throat hard. A warm, intense flavor spread from the back of his tongue all the way down to his chest. He wasn't sure he liked it.

"What is this?" he asked once the heat abated.

"It's whiskey."

"It sucks."

"Your taste sucks."

Bakura's nose instinctively twisted in a sneer, but he lifted his glass and tried another sip. He didn't like it any better the second time.

Malik emptied his own glass and went back to observing Bakura with a look that betrayed nothing more than annoyance.

"Sit down, will you?" he snapped after a while, indicating a stool.

The yami eyed the offered seat. Slowly, he climbed on it and perched at its edge, making sure to keep one foot in contact with the floor, just in case he needed to bolt.

Malik rolled his eyes. "You can sit like a normal person, you know. Take off your jacket and stuff."

Bakura did not move. He didn't get it: a moment ago, Malik was shouting at him and now he invited him to sit down and have a drink. He wondered if the Tomb Keeper was just as unhinged as ever.

When he saw that Bakura ignored him, Malik shrugged and murmured something that sounded like, "Suit yourself."

He poured himself another glass of whiskey and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes never once left Bakura. He took small sips, keeping the glass hovering close to his mouth and eyeing the yami over the rim of his glass.

"Alright. Start talking," he said after a while.

"About what?" Bakura asked with a scowl.

"What have you been up to? For how long have you been following Ryou? And what do you know exactly?"

Malik's voice was commanding, ringing loud and clear—probably a leftover skill from his days as leader of the Ghouls. A useful skill, Bakura had to admit.

Still, he did not comply that easily. "One question at a time, Ishtar," he said sharply.

"Fine." Malik's face hardened again. "Tell me about Ryou."

"What, you two are friends now or something?"

" _Yes,_ " Malik hissed in an almost challenging tone. "So I'm warning you. If you came here to drag me into some king of genius scheme, you are wasting your time."

Bakura let out a pointed laugh. "You are one to talk about 'genius schemes'."

Malik did not seem amused. He narrowed his eyes and the color of his irises deepened. "I'm serious. If you are planning something, I want _nothing_ to do with it. So, if that is the case, you might as well walk away right now."

"Relax, Ishtar," Bakura said with a casual wave of his hand. "I am not planning anything. At least, not in the way you mean it."

"In what way, then?"

Bakura's appetite for joking evaporated. He leaned forward, dead serious, and gave the honest answer with all the brutality it held. "I plan to find out what the hell happened, and then I plan to get out of here once and for all."

This revelation did not seem to have the impact Bakura expected. Malik just looked at him, deadpan. "Is that all?"

"Yeah. That's the plan."

Malik's brow scrunched in a doubtful frown. "No revenge? No killing people? No plunging the world in darkness?"

" _No,_ " Bakura growled. "I just want to get the fuck back into the afterlife and, preferably, not come back ever again."

"Huh." Malik contemplated him. "I find that a little hard to believe."

Bakura felt the need to punch the look of smug skepticism from his face.

"You find hard to believe that after more than three millennia of roaming this pile of shit you call _world_ , I just want to rest?"

"Well... Last time, those three millennia had done nothing to diminish your thirst for revenge, so-"

"It's not the same!" Bakura cut across him with such conviction he made one of Malik's eyebrows arch.

"What changed?" he asked, ever-infuriatingly distrustful.

For a second, Bakura wondered whether it would be worth it to try and explain. He had thought Malik would show some good will and an open mind, for old times' sake, but so far Malik's tone was cold and not at all encouraging. It reminded Bakura of Ryou and his unmitigated dismissal of any and all explanations he had tried to give.

He huffed and tried to remind himself that this was _not_ Ryou, and that he would never make any progress if he didn't even at least try to explain.

He decided to start from the basics.

"You know about Zorc Necrophades, right?"

Malik stared at him with one eyebrow still cocked and his arms folded across his chest. "You mean _yourself_?"

Bakura blinked, fazed. He hadn't expected that answer.

"Yeah, see, I know about that," Malik said, smirking a little at the yami's bafflement. "The guys told me all about it."

"Well, they didn't tell you _all_ of it," Bakura replied, getting over his surprise pretty quickly. "There are things they don't know."

"Such as?"

Bakura huffed loudly and brushed his palm over his face, earning his eyes a few seconds of darkness. The music raged around him like a storm, full of electricity and restless energy. His head throbbed; his throat had started feeling strained and hoarse.

"Alright," he said. He had to find the best way to get this over with, to explain it once and make it understood. He cleared his throat and looked back into Malik's distrustful eyes. "So you know that the _me_ you met all those years ago was Zorc."

Malik gave a curt nod.

"Good. That makes it easier." He huffed again, preparing for the crazy part of his explanation. "What changed is that... Τhis time around, Zorc is gone."

Malik stared at him blankly. Bakura wondered whether he had heard him, or understood him at all. He fiddled with his glass, then emptied it for the sake of getting some alcohol in his body.

"But you are here," he heard Malik say, as if that cancelled out everything that Bakura was saying.

"Yes, but I am no longer Zorc," Bakura slammed his empty glass down and raised his voice. "We used to be merged, but we no longer-"

"What do you mean, _merged_?"

"What do you make of it?" Bakura growled, masking his anxiousness with impatience. "We were one. One mind, one will, one force—whatever you want to call it."

Malik leaned with his hip against the counter. He didn't seem to have understood exactly what Bakura meant, but his look was slowly darkening.

"The Pharaoh defeated Zorc," he said matter-of-factly.

"Exactly," the yami said briskly. "He was banished. So now he's gone."

Malik's expression was as dark as a cloudy night. His brows knit together on top of his nose. "I don't understand," he said in an undertone that indicated that he understood enough.

"Zorc is gone," Bakura repeated. "I am just me. Just the way I was at first... Back in Egypt."

Malik looked at him for one very long, very still moment. Then he rubbed a hand over his eyes. Most of his face remained hidden behind it, but whatever was visible seemed as stiff as his shoulders.

"So you... what? You were possessed?" he asked, voice oddly pinched.

"Not _possessed_." The admittance left a bitter taste in Bakura's mouth, but he swallowed it down. "We were merged—I can't explain it any better. All my actions were mine, but... It wasn't exactly me. Not _just_ me."

Malik dropped his hand and looked at him. His eyes seemed to be trying to hold back some kind of deep-seated ache, but it slipped out through the cracks anyway. "Is that why you came to see me?"

The question stumped Bakura.

The need to protect his pride surged through him like a wave, only to ebb before the pained look in Malik's eyes. It would be easy to give some kind of smug or sassy reply, but arrogance felt too damn inappropriate for a moment like this. He had come looking for honesty; it felt only fair to pay it back with nothing less than the truth.

He searched around for words that might not sound too desperate or pathetic.

"I came to you because I need answers," he said at last. "And I figured, if there was one person I could talk to without them freaking out or acting all high and mighty... it would be you."

Somewhere halfway through his sentence, his voice had lowered of its own accord, but Malik seemed to have heard him. Bakura saw the lines around his mouth tighten.

The Tomb Keeper stayed silent, but his expression fluctuated. His face was in battle with itself: there was uncertainty there, and anger, and the hint of something tender like compassion—or perhaps fatigue. He bit the inside of his lip and a hundred more emotions that Bakura couldn't name flickered across his features.

In the end, Malik's face settled for something unreadable—something almost blank that made Bakura think that his hopes had been utterly unrealistic after all. He might as well see himself out. It might save his pride to do so.

Still, he made no move to leave. He clenched his sweating palm around his glass and waited.

Malik lowered his head and pinched the top of his nose with an inaudible but perfectly discernible sigh. He almost made Bakura jump when he straightened and shouted, "Hey! Reiji!"

The second barman, a tall, burly and heavily inked guy, made his way towards them.

"What is it, Ishtar?" He noticed Bakura and nodded in a casual greeting. "Hey, Ry-"

He paused mid sentence and squinted at the yami, taking a closer, better look.

"Oh. Sorry, pal. I thought you were somebody else," he said with an apologetic half-smile and turned back to Malik, missing Bakura's stunned look. "What's up?"

"I'm gonna step out for a while. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, man, don't worry. I've got your back," Reiji said and gave Malik a pat that shook his whole frame.

"Thanks," Malik said with a short-lived smile.

Once Reiji walked away, he turned to Bakura and motioned to follow him. He walked to the far end of the bar, slipped under the counter and made his way towards a door with a 'Staff Only' sign. Bakura hurried to keep up. "Where are we going?" he grumbled, eyeing the Egyptian's somber profile with apprehension.

Malik pushed the door open and waited until Bakura joined him in a cramped room. He closed the door behind them, muffling the sound of music and voices; the sudden hush made Bakura's ears ring.

"You said you need answers," Malik said. He grabbed a jacket from a coat rack and beckoned to Bakura to follow him further in. "So we are going somewhere we can actually talk."

He pushed the handle bar of a heavy door. Beyond the threshold, Bakura saw what seemed like a bare backyard, full of huge trashcans and stacks of crates. He heard the soft pattering of rain on metal.

Malik gestured towards the small yard and walked outside first. The yami followed.

Squeezed between pallets and crates full of empty bottles stood a bench; nothing more than a long piece of wood pushed against the wall of the building, kept dry thanks to an overhanging roof. Under it was a tin box full of cigarette butts.

Malik sat on one side of the bench, leaving enough space for Bakura next to him. The yami followed his example and sat down, carefully positioning himself as far on the edge as possible.

He raised his gaze to the small roof that stood between them and the rain. Water cascaded down its edges in small streams that splashed and spattered around them. Behind the curtain of water glinted the lights of the surrounding buildings, faraway and ethereal like fairy-lights. It was quiet out there; nothing beyond the sound of the rain and the occasional rumble of thunder.

He found his fingers fidgeting, so he took out his tobacco bag and started rolling a cigarette.

When he glanced to his left, he noticed that Malik was watching him. He indicated Bakura's fiddling fingers and the half-ready cigarette between them. "You picked that from Ryou?" he asked, none too gently.

Bakura let out a condescending huff. "Do not associate me with the brat. I didn't even know he smoked."

"Sure," Malik said dubiously. "So you just happened to pick up smoking on your second week as a living person?"

"Actually, I think it was on my second day."

Malik shook his head. "You are unbelievable."

Bakura chuckled around his filter tip. He lit his cigarette and took a long drag; the roughness of smoke mingled with the leftover taste of whiskey. His body sighed.

"So." Malik's voice was both soft and sharp, like the rain around them. "Start talking."

He took his time to blow out some smoke before replying.

"I already explained it as best as I could."

"No, not that. About Ryou."

"What about him?"

"For how long have you been following him?"

"I thought I would be asking the questions."

"Answer mine first, and we'll see if I'll answer yours."

"You're not calling the shots, Tomb-Keeper."

"It's more like _bar-keeper_ these days. And you are not calling them, either."

A long stream of smoke escaped Bakura's mouth. "You really are every bit as annoying as you used to, aren't you?"

"Same goes for you."

Malik's glare was unwavering. At that moment he looked so much like the head-strong, fiery and incredibly irksome person Bakura had come to know during Battle City, that he couldn't help but smirk.

"It's good to see that some things remain the same," he said with a soft chuckle.

"I wouldn't be so happy about it, if I were you."

Bakura shook his head. The edge of his cigarette glowed a furious red. "If you were me, you'd see how bat-shit crazy everything seems from where I'm standing."

"I don't get it. What did you expect?" Malik asked with an exasperated edge in his voice. Then the bite bled out of his tone, leaving him with a tired, muted sound. "It's been eleven years, Bakura."

The sound of his name felt heavy on his skin. He tried to ignore it and puffed out smoke with a loud huff.

"Not for me," he growled. "I woke up in this mess and I can't make heads or tails of it." He resisted the impulse to flit his cigarette away and watch it get crushed under the weight of the rain. He knew he'd regret it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malik's expression soften.

"You really don't know anything, do you?"

"No, I don't." Something about the disbelief in Malik's voice as he had asked that made Bakura add, "Let me guess. The brat told you I'm lying."

The scowl returned to Malik's face. "His name is Ryou. And of course he did. But, just to make it clear, are you lying?"

"No!"

Malik acknowledged that with a satisfied nod. "Didn't think so."

"That's so gracious of you," the yami said acidly. "Why trust me all of a sudden?"

Malik let out a heavy exhale that filled the air around him with fog. "Well... The Pharaoh doesn't know a thing, either."

Bakura jumped straight, boots scuffing on the gravel. "So that son of a bitch really is back?"

Malik grimaced. "Calm down. And I might really regret telling you this, but... yeah."

Bakura glared at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. In his head he was already picturing his nemesis, ridiculous hair and smug grin and everything, alive, breathing the same freezing air.

They were both back. Apparently, he couldn't live nor die without that prick following him. He was probably with the Mutou boy, just as Bakura had suspected. His knuckles thirsted for violence.

Then the rest of Malik's sentence sank in, slowly soaking through his fury.

 _The Pharaoh doesn't know a thing, either._

It took a minute for Bakura to fully grasp at the implications of this. The realization left him numb.

If that was true, if the Pharaoh really didn't know anything... Then Bakura was back at point zero. After Ryou, the Pharaoh had been his next best bet at an explanation, and he'd just lost it.

He dropped heavily back down and against the wall.

His cigarette had went out. He had crushed it between his fingers without noticing. He flicked it away.

"There's an ashtray literally underneath you," Malik muttered.

Bakura didn't answer. His thoughts were raging.

"He has his own body? Like I do?" he asked.

"Yeah, but... Not his _old_ body. He looks more like Yuugi. Same as you look more like Ryou-"

"You've seen him?"

"Of course."

Another thought pierced through the rest and came to the forefront of Bakura's mind.

"What about your... insane... second-self yami... thing?"

The corner of Malik's mouth curled upwards. "That was eloquently put," he remarked. Then he sighed and let his head rest back. His gaze got lost somewhere in the rain. "No sight of him."

"But _is_ he back?"

"I don't know."

Bakura bristled in silence for a while. If that whack job was back, with a body of his own... It couldn't be good news.

He looked at Malik. He certainly didn't seem frail; he could see, from the way his body shaped his clothes, that he was quite fit and well-built. That might come to his advantage, if he needed to defend himself, but he had no idea if it'd be enough to keep him safe from a psychopath such as his yami.

"Don't let you guard down," he growled.

Malik, surprisingly, laughed.

"That's exactly what Ryou keeps telling me."

"Yeah, well," Bakura snapped, "the brat's right about one thing, then."

"Stop calling him that."

"Since we are on the subject," Bakura said abruptly, turning around to face Malik, "what the fuck is wrong with him?"

Malik stared at him, nonplussed. "You mean Ryou?"

"Yeah," Bakura grunted. "Is he right? In the head?"

"Why are you asking that?"

"Because he certainly doesn't seem so," he replied. He hoped he'd sounded more derisive than disturbed.

A worried frown crumpled Malik's face. "Elaborate."

"Yesterday, when I went to ask him about-"

"When you did _what?!_ " Malik exclaimed, sitting up so suddenly he sent his earrings in a mad swing.

Bakura blinked, a bit taken aback by Malik's reaction. Then he understood. "He didn't tell you?"

Malik didn't speak.

"I guess he didn't," Bakura murmured. "Yeah. We... kinda talked yesterday."

Suspicion returned to Malik's frown. "You said you followed him. You never said anything about speaking to him."

"I just followed him _at first_ ," Bakura clarified, "but yesterday I sort of... revealed myself."

"Why would you do that?"

"Well, I wasn't learning anything just by watching him, I decided to straight up go and ask him some things," Bakura said, a bit more defensively than he would like to.

Malik sighed and rubbed his fingertips over his eyes. "You really are a drama queen, aren't you?"

Bakura really didn't know what he was supposed to answer to that.

After another exhausted sigh, Malik went on. "Did he freak out?"

The scowl returned to Bakura's face. "He did. He went all... pissy and aggressive when he saw me-"

"Don't tell me you didn't expect that."

Bakura jumped back to the defensive. "All I wanted to do was ask him a few questions-"

"And I'm ready to bet you were very polite about it-"

"Anyway," Bakura cut across him with the air of a man that has something infinitely more important to say. He pierced Malik with a glare that left no room for nonsense. "He had a knife."

Malik did not seem as shocked as Bakura would've anticipated. He merely huffed and said, "I know. Did he take it on you?"

"No. He _gave_ it to me," Bakura replied through gritted teeth, trying to communicate at least a small part of his unease. "He gave it up like he didn't care. He practically invited me to use it."

Malik's forehead creased. His eyes turned towards the rain. " _Shit_ , Ryou."

"Yeah," Bakura said, sharing the sentiment, however unwillingly. "So what's wrong with him? He wasn't like this... before."

The look Malik gave him was both weary and exasperated. "Really? Are you really asking this question? You _really_ don't know the answer?"

Bakura stared at him. It grated at his nerves that Malik kept looking at him as if he was missing something incredibly obvious. "Well, I wasn't around, in case you didn't notice."

"You are more dense than I thought, then," Malik stated and settled more comfortably on his side of the bench.

"How on earth am I supposed to know what happened to the brat when I was-"

"Bakura." The utterance of his name in addition to the solemnity in Malik's voice made him close his mouth. Malik went on, looking very serious. " _You_. You happened."

He would sneer and taunt if it weren't for the sharpness in Malik's gaze. It pressed on him uncomfortably.

"It can't be. You said it yourself," the yami said after a while, voice a low rumble. "It's been eleven years. He should be over it."

"Hello pot. This is kettle. You're black," Malik said simply.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you're not one to talk, considering."

"It's not the same!" Bakura all but roared. "I had an actual reason to keep a grudge! You can't really believe Ryou is so... _oversensitive_ that he couldn't deal with-"

"I advise you to stop talking now," Malik said, "or I might take that ashtray and beat you with it."

Bakura's nostrils flared. He thought of challenging him to go through with his threat and then use whatever Malik did as an excuse for a fistfight. It'd certainly help him vent a bit. But then Malik might not be willing to answer any more of his questions, and Ryou would no doubt learn about it and get even more hostile. There was no way to win this.

He crossed his arms over his chest and refused to look at Malik as he said, "It's really weird having you two be friends."

"Why? He's a great guy."

"Really?" Bakura sneered, thinking about the sulky, hissing Ryou he'd talked to last night. "He didn't even tell you he saw me. Some friend he is."

"Well..." Malik gave him a smile that looked more like a grimace. "That's Ryou for you."

"You just said he's a great guy."

"Yeah, but... Whenever things get too bad, he just... closes in to himself." Malik shrugged, pained smile still on his face. "I'll talk to him later."

"Well, then, you'd better not tell him about _this_ ," Bakura muttered, pointing between them.

"I not gonna lie to him."

"It's not lying if you don't mention it."

"I'm not hiding things anymore. From anyone. That's behind me," Malik said in a resolute tone.

Bakura scoffed. "You're only making your life too hard for no reason."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malik shrug again. He guessed he wouldn't be adhering to his advise. Stubborn Tomb Keeper.

"Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? Ryou?" Malik said, sounding a little impatient.

Bakura sank in his seat. "Ryou. The pharaoh. Whatever the hell is going on." He raked a hand through his hair, trying to put his thoughts back in order. His long huffs painted the air white. "I have a fucking body," he murmured darkly.

"Yeah. I noticed."

" _Why?_ " He turned to look at Malik, feeling the desperate need for an answer claw at his insides.

He guessed it showed in his face, because Malik's expression changed. His face smoothed by compassion, even as something nervous stirred in the depths of his eyes. He seemed to be contemplating something.

In the end Malik lowered his head with a sigh. His earrings peeked from between his hair and caught what little light made it through the curtain of water.

"Look," he said quietly. "I don't know why you are back, or if someone brought you back on purpose... But I have some news that might or might not be relevant."

Bakura grasped at Malik's words as desperately as a starving predator jumping on prey. "What news? What do you know?"

"Well..." Malik seemed not to know how to phrase his thoughts or where to begin. His hands clasped the edge of the bench. "There's been a discovery recently."

Bakura waited, holding his breath.

"The Millennium Spellbook," Malik said in an almost apologetic tone.

He was met with silence. Bakura stared, immobile.

"The Spellbook," he repeated at length.

"...You know what it is, right?" Malik asked.

"Of course I know what it is!" Bakura hissed, his voice rough like the rolling thunders. He felt his teeth grind against each other. "Who found it? Where?"

"Archaeologists," Malik offered unhelpfully. "Near Thebes."

"Where is it now?"

"In Egypt. It's being studied."

" _Studied?_ "

"Yes. And translated, as far as we know."

Rage and disquiet slithered under Bakura's skin. "Are they fucking crazy? Don't they know how dangerous that thing is?"

"Apparently, not," Malik replied, impossibly calm. "Or they do, and that's why they are studying it."

"Who is?" Bakura demanded, by all means ready to crack a few skulls. He almost pounced upon Malik when he saw him hesitate. "Speak, Tomb Keeper!"

The commanding tone in his voice made Malik grow stern again: his expression hardened and all desire to share what he knew seemed to fade.

Bakura cursed inwardly. He rubbed his palms on his face, felt his cheeks hot against them. He tried to keep his temper in check.

"Malik," he said, somewhat more gently. He saw him lift an expectant eyebrow. He considered saying _please_ , but the word got stuck somewhere in his throat and couldn't get out.

Malik huffed. "You are an asshole, you know that?"

Bakura grimaced. He guessed he deserved that.

Malik did not look appeased, but he spoke nonetheless. "Thomas Blackwood. Rich guy, collector of antiquities, philanthropist and the like. He funded the excavation, he's funding the translation. That's what we know so far."

"Where is he?"

"Egypt. Overseeing the work on the Spellbook."

"Does he plan to use it?"

"How should we know?"

Bakura pressed his fingers on his thighs, felt his nails sink into fabric.

He remembered Kul Elna. He didn't want to, but it invaded his mind of its own accord. It always loomed at the edges of his thoughts, and Bakura kept pushing it back, but now he couldn't help but remember the village, and the ritual, and those goddamned instructions written on that goddamn book. And someone was translating it, bringing all that shit back to light.

He was so angry he felt like choking.

"We are trying to get our hands on it," he heard Malik say.

"How?" he snarled, but it came out hoarse.

"Ishizu tried, with no luck. So now... We just recruited Kaiba."

" _We?_ " Bakura repeated, his tone scathing.

"Me. Ryou. Yuugi. Atem. Jounouchi. Ishizu. All of us."

Bakura's mouth curled downwards. _All of us._

The group. The holy gang.

Even if the matter did not immediately concern _all of them_ , they were on the inside—already planning something, by the sound of it. All while Bakura he was left to grope in the dark. He was plucked from death, thrown in this city and left to rot in the rain, at a loss, alone. Because he had no place in that _us_. That _us_ was reserved specifically for the Pharaoh and his fanboys. Not for someone like him.

His thoughts went back to Ryou. _He knew_ , he realized. Last night, when Bakura had confronted him, Ryou had known about all of this. And yet, he'd preferred to risk his life than help him. They'd all die before helping him.

...Except Malik.

Bakura had no idea why he'd done something so risky, but Malik had just spilled the beans to everyone's worst enemy. He wondered what that would make him in their eyes.

He stole a sideways glance at him and found Malik observing him, lost in his own thoughts. His eyes carried way too much kindness.

Bakura shied away from it, tried to pretend he hadn't seen it. He looked at the rain instead. Thin streams of water unfurled from the edges of the roof like sparkling ribbons. Droplets exploded in puddles, multiplying the fairy-lights.

Malik seemed to have followed a train of thoughts similar to his. His voice reached Bakura, quiet and soft. "Where have you been these last few weeks?"

"What do you care?" he hissed. His put-on fierceness sounded hollow.

"Do you have somewhere to stay?" Malik went on.

Bakura turned his head to glower at him. "Save your pity," he spat.

"And you save your anger for those who deserve it. I am answering your questions, in case you didn't notice," Malik replied, so composed that it made Bakura wonder if he'd inherited something of his sister's patience.

It left Bakura more humbled than he'd expected. He turned back towards the rain and started fiddling with the edge of his jacket. "I don't think your friends will appreciate that, by the way."

"I don't care," Malik said without hesitation. "You deserve to know. This concerns you as much as it concerns us."

Bakura shook his head.

He thought of calling Malik a fool. Thought of telling him again not to make his life hard for no reason. He thought of telling him not to trust him. Then he thought of thanking him for trusting him.

He wondered if Malik had ever really trusted him before. He knew he hadn't had too much faith on Malik during Battle City. Their partnership had been a joke. They'd used each other, thinking the other wouldn't notice. And they'd failed. Naturally.

At least, Bakura had failed. He wasn't so sure about Malik. Looking at him now, he wasn't so sure.

There were laugh lines between his cheeks and his mouth. They were faint and shallow, but they were there. And he was helping him, for no other reason than that Bakura _needed_ his help.

"...You seem changed," he said after a long silence.

Malik chuckled. "I might be taking a wild stab in the dark here, but... You, too."

Bakura scowled. "Not everybody believes that." He thought of Ryou again.

"Well... You need to be willing to give a chance first. And not everybody is willing to."

Bakura crossed his arms over his chest and directed his scowl at his feet. He watched the raindrops bounce off the gravel to cling on his boots. He tried to focus on that. He didn't want to think about Ryou again; one sleepless night was enough.

Malik's voice broke the monotone of the rain.

"There's something I want to ask you."

"Then ask away."

After a moment of indecision, Malik went on. "You really went to the afterlife?"

"Yeah," Bakura replied, bored.

"Okay, but..." Malik huffed. "Okay, this might sound a little insensitive, but-"

"Just say it."

"Well... How on earth did you manage to pass the weighing ritual? How did you not end up in Ammit's stomach?"

An actual smile curved Bakura's lips. "Think, Tomb Keeper."

Malik made an aggravated sound. "I've been wondering about that even since you came back, but I really can't figure it out-"

Bakura let his head loll sideways and smiled cockily at him. "You were brought up learning about these things. Do you forget so easily?"

Malik still seemed to have no idea of what he was talking about.

Bakura sighed, a bit disappointed. "You've read the Book of the Dead, right?"

"Yes," Malik said slowly. Then he took an audible inhale; his eyes went wide as comprehension dawned on him. "Oh."

Bakura's face split into a satisfied grin.

"You _cheated_ your way in?" Malik breathed. The look of incredulity on his face made Bakura smile wider.

"Of course I did. I am the Thief King."

Malik gaped, his expression turning to one of near disappointment. "That was... unexpected."

Bakura gave him a patronizing look. "I was a thief who planned to go against the Pharaoh. I had memorized all the instructions and the spells ever since I was ten. I knew what I was getting into and, trust me, it wasn't unexpected."

Malik let out a small laugh and the shape of his lips took a playful edge. "You know what? I think this might have been your most successful plan so far."

"Nah," Bakura shook his head. "I wouldn't be here it it were."

All signs of impish delight disappeared from Malik's face; the look that Bakura could now expertly identify as 'troubled' returned. "So you really want to... go back?" he asked in a voice so soft the sound of the rain almost trampled it.

His lips had almost said the word _die_. Bakura couldn't understand why the Tomb Keeper had felt the need to rephrase. Either way, the answer was one.

"Yes."

He couldn't understand why Malik looked so concerned, either.

"But," he started to argue, uselessly, "now that you are here and you have your own own body, don't you want to take advantage of it and just... live?"

Bakura looked at the rain. The dregs of his soul stirred and sighed.

"I've lived long enough, Tomb Keeper. This world holds nothing for me. Not even revenge."

He expected Malik to make another argument; to present him an array of reasons why drawing breath was worth it, to defend the joys of life in an attempt to sway him.

All Malik did was nod quietly.

Bakura felt the need to avoid his eyes. He didn't want to accidentally read in them more than he wished to.

What he really wanted to was leave before Malik's questions had a chance to prob deeper. He needed to be alone with the silence in his head. And perhaps a cigarette.

He got to his feet, straightened his jacket.

"I'd better get going," he said. He didn't expect the roughness in his voice.

"Okay," Malik replied. He stretched and blinked, as if he was waking up. He looked at Bakura and a faint smile settled on his lips. It wasn't exactly happy. "Do you want me to keep you informed about the Spellbook?"

As much as Bakura considered it his right to know about the issue, the generosity of Malik's proposition took him aback. "Yeah," he said, a little uncertainly. And, "Thanks."

Malik's lips curved some more, finding something of their previous playfulness. "No problem. But I'm gonna have to able to reach you somehow. You are gonna have to tell me how to find you."

"Don't worry about it. I will find _you_ when I need to."

Malik rolled his eyes in an overly dramatic display of exasperation. "Could you stop being so cryptic? It's _so_ ten years ago."

Bakura laughed under his breath, sharp and subtly like a wolf. Malik's chuckles joined in. For a few seconds their laughter mingled with the sound of the rain, pattering all around them, making everything solid and loud and real.

When Malik's laughter died out, it left behind a warm smile, disarming in its honesty.

"It's good to see you."

Bakura stared for a few seconds, stunned into stillness. His skin tingled, warm against the cold air.

He replied with a grin full of confidence and mischievous glee.

"See you around, Tomb Keeper."

He left the _Crow'_ s small, rainy backyard and pushed open the door that would lead him through the bar and out to the street. Before the door closed behind him, he heard Malik shout, "Call me!"

Bakura chuckled to himself and let the door swing shut behind him.

.

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 _ **Author's note:**_

 _ **Heeeey hello I'm back~**_

 _ **And Bakura *finally* got to talk to Malik. I didn't mean for the chapter to be so long, but once they started talking, they just wouldn't stop. I'm not really into Thiefshipping myself (I'm a shameless Tendershipper) but I can totally see the chemistry between those two. Writing them together was so enjoyable :)**_

 _ **Plus according to the new, fixed timeline, Bakura's scheduled fight is not on the last Thursday of December, but on the second to last, which happens to be on the 23rd. I really hadn't planned this to happen on the same day as Malik's birthday, it just happened, and it works out so well :D**_

 _ **It might be a while until the next chapter, but I will probably post some fic-related art in the meantime, sooo**_  
 _ **if you are interested, come by my Tumblr to check it out, or to simply say hi! :D**_  
 _ **You can find me on**_ **tenderwulf*tumblr*** **com** _ **  
**_

 _ **Thank you all for the support and the wonderful comments! :D  
Until next time, take care~**_


	13. A helping hand

**Chapter 13: A helping hand**

Atem was sitting in the bathtub, warm water reaching up to his chest.

Steam was filling the bath like fog, washing everything out in milky hues. Atem enjoyed that, even though he knew Yuugi would freak out when he saw he'd once more turned his bath into a hammam.

He slid lower until his shoulders were fully submerged.

He watched his hand as he raked the water surface. The water slipped between his fingers, soft and smooth like silk. He remembered doing the same with a different hand; a darker-skinned one. The memory was accompanied by scents: myrrh and lotus flowers; essential oils of cedar wood and papyri seeds; jasmine; pine resin.

Yuugi's bubble bath smelled like peach. At least, that's what it said on the bottle, even though it smelled nothing like the actual fruit.

The foam had long since dissolved into pearly rivulets floating on the water's surface. Atem combed his fingers through them, watching them thoughtfully.

He remembered many more things. He remembered how, after his morning bath, the servants would lather his body with oils and creams. After that, they would paint his eyes. His skin would gleam bronze in the sun.

His current fingers were nearly as pale as the foam. He wondered if he should coax Yuugi into going for a walk at the park, to let the sun see them.

Yuugi would probably say they'd better get on with the party preparations. Not to mention the infinitely more daunting task of talking to Kaiba—a task they should carry through with as soon as possible. Before lunch, preferably.

Atem sighed. He rose carefully and water splashed and sloshed, too loud in the quiet of the bath. He emptied the tub but the smell of peaches lingered.

He grabbed the towel and started drying his body. He hesitated for a heartbeat before going any lower than his bellybutton, then huffed and decided to keep his gaze elsewhere as he went lower.

It felt a bit stupid, but blatantly looking also felt a bit _wrong_ , even though no one was around. He wasn't sure if he had the right to... stare. It was still Yuugi's body. Sort of.

Not that this was anything new, it was just... complicated.

He wiped the steam off the mirror with his forearm. The reflection of his eyes was a brilliant crimson, striking among the paled colors of his surroundings.

He wasn't sure if he looked exactly like Yuugi. He wasn't sure what the others saw when they looked at him. All he knew was that he did not look as tired as his partner: the skin under his eyes did not sag as much, and there were no more spots nor as many crinkles.

They looked different. He wasn't sure if they looked different _enough_.

Atem blinked at his reflection and his mind wandered again.

At this time of the day, a servant would come to comb his hair, while his manicurist would file his fingernails. Atem even remembered the latter: a stout, cheerful man with skilled fingers and a warm voice. He had been in his service ever since Atem had been a child. What had been his name...?

...Nakhtmin. His name had been Nakhtmin.

Atem smiled and filed the memory away, along with the rest.

He put on the sweatpants and t-shirt he'd borrowed from Yuugi's drawer and wrapped his hair in the towel. Then he carefully cracked the door open and listened for any sounds.

The house was silent. Yuugi had apparently decided to sleep in.

Atem rubbed the towel into his scalp as he made his way to Yuugi's bedroom. The door was ajar, as usual; he pushed it open with his hip as quietly as he could and walked inside.

Yuugi was breathing deeply, tangled in his blanket as if it were a cocoon. Atem approached the bed and sat on its edge.

"Aibou," he whispered.

Yuugi did not stir.

Atem tried poking his shoulder. "Aibou," repeated, a bit louder.

Yuugi hummed and mumbled something.

The memories of Egypt gave their place to those of a typical Domino morning: Yuugi murmuring _Just five more minutes, Grandpa,_ dear old Sugoroku sauntering back downstairs to prepare breakfast, Yuugi snoozing up until Atem started pestering him to get up. Atem was under the impression that his presence was the main reason Yuugi had made it to school on time each morning; ignoring the pharaoh living in your head was not as easy as turning off an alarm clock.

He chuckled softly. Carefully, he brushed a strand of hair out of Yuugi's half-open mouth and tucked it behind his ear. "Aibou. Wake up."

"Mmmm?" Yuugi finally stirred. He turned his head towards the direction of the voice and his ear bumped against Atem's hand. "Mtem?" He blinked up languidly. Blurry violet peeked from under his eyelashes.

Atem smoothed out the hair behind Yuugi's ear, feeling like he was petting a sleepy cat. "Good morning, aibou."

Yuugi smiled. "Mmhey, 'tem," he mumbled, stretching. His eyes immediately sought out Atem and examined him, travelling from his face to the towel draped over his shoulder, his wet hair, the t-shirt and sweats. Once he seemed satisfied with his inspection, his sleepy haziness turned into something happy that lit up his eyes. "Good morning."

He was the perfect image of morning bliss, smiling in his comfy covers, disheveled and puffy-cheeked from a good night's sleep. Atem hated to be the one to ruin it for him, but it was his duty as pharaoh and his friend's long-standing alarm clock.

He lowered his hand to Yuugi's shoulder and gave him a small pat. "Come on, aibou. Get up. We have a lot to do."

"Mkay," Yuugi hummed and closed his eyes again. "Just five more minutes."

Atem resisted the urge to chuckle at the familiarity of the scene. "It's already late. Come on."

Yuugi groaned and tried to fold his pillow around his head. "It's Sunday," he said, voice half-muffled. "I can sleep in. I'm an adult."

Atem arched an eyebrow, because at the moment Yuugi resembled anything but. "And I am three thousand years old," he countered. "I win. Penalty game: you have to get up."

"You are sixteen. Okay, maybe eighteen, I... guess. Or... nineteen-?"

Atem contemplated it for a while. "If we take into account the years I spent with you, I guess that makes me closer to nineteen."

"Yeeeah..." Yuugi mumbled, his brain evidently falling asleep again.

Atem poked him in the ribs, effectively causing him to jump with a startled gasp. "Come on, sleepyhead. Get up. I'm going to make you some coffee."

Yuugi's eyes widened in alarm. "No, wait, I-" He groaned loudly and threw the covers off of him. "Okay, okay, I'm up. Just don't touch the coffee machine."

Atem gave him his most innocent grin.

It was true that he had managed to break the pot and almost destroy the coffee machine the last time he'd tried to use them, but if it made Yuugi get up, then he could call it a win.

He followed him to the kitchen, where Yuugi, yawning widely and rubbing his eyes, started the coffee machine. The bean grinder was loud, but the smell of freshly ground coffee seemed to do the trick: Yuugi inhaled deeply and perked up. After a large portion of scrambled eggs with toast and two cups of coffee, he finally seemed fully functional and ready to confront Kaiba.

As ready as one could be, anyway. Atem himself was feeling more than a little apprehensive at the prospect.

It wasn't that he was intimidated by Kaiba. He simply had no idea what to expect. Nothing had been easy so far. Everybody else might have faith in him, because he was _Atem_ —and, apparently, that was enough reassurance for them—but Atem himself had his doubts. He might be an ever-confident king in the eyes of others, but on the inside he felt like nothing more than a nervous teenager.

 _Nineteen years old_ , Yuugi had said. Atem hadn't thought about it like this.

He remembered Egypt again. They might have treated him like a god, but he had only been sixteen. Even his friends had been older than him.

By Ra. He really had died young. Too young. Everybody else had gotten to grow and learn, while he'd been suspended in a void.

He had no memory of the afterlife, but he knew his friends had been there: Mahaado, Mana; Seto, Isis, Karim and Shimon. Had he found them changed, too? How different had they been, after living long and full lives?

...Had Atem been as out of place in the afterlife as he was here? The thought was-

Disturbing.

"Oh, stop looking at it like that, Atem. It's a phone, not a bomb."

Atem huffed.

"I guess I'm nervous," he admitted.

He expected a bit of teasing for that, but none came. The lines in Yuugi's face were soft with understanding.

"It's just... Kaiba," he said. "I know he is intimidating sometimes, but he's the same as ever."

"None of you is the same," Atem said before he could think about it twice.

Yuugi faltered.

"Umm... Sorry, aibou, I meant-"

"No, I know," Yuugi said. He smiled, but it came out way too sad. "I can imagine how things look from your perspective. I mean- not exactly, but... I get it." He sighed. "We _have_ changed. And yet we haven't... You know?" He tried to smile again.

Atem looked at Yuugi's black hair; it was sticking out in all directions again. His eyes were sad but as kind as ever.

"I know," he replied quietly. He tried not to look at the golden ring around Yuugi's finger. He turned to the phone instead. "But I find it hard to believe that Kaiba is still... _not_ over... whatever has happened, like you said."

Yuugi's hand on his was unexpected. Atem stiffened a little at first, but then squeezed Yuugi's hand back.

Yuugi's eyes seemed softer than before. "None of us was really over it," he said gently. "We all held on to it... For one reason or another. None of us really let go."

Atem wondered if he was imagining the bitterness in Yuugi's voice. This time his gaze was instinctively drawn to the wedding ring.

That was another matter he ought to attend to. Sometime soon.

He guessed Yuugi had meant it as a consolation, but his words weren't all that reassuring. If the years that had passed had treated Kaiba half as bad as they had Yuugi—or even that poor Ryou Bakura—then Ra help him.

Atem sighed. He nodded towards the phone.

"Let's do this."

"Okay. Don't worry. Everything will be fine," Yuugi said. He searched for Kaiba's number, set it to speaker and held the phone between the two of them.

Atem gazed at the green phone icon with uneasiness.

It only rang once before Kaiba picked up; his voice issued from the speaker, loud and sharp.

 _"Yuugi. You have ten seconds to tell me what you want and I sincerely hope it's a strictly business matter or I'm hanging up. Go."_

Yuugi, surprisingly, smiled and leaned towards the phone. "Hello to you too, Seto. How have you been?"

 _"Is this a friendship thing again?"_ Kaiba asked with evident suspicion. _"I'm warning you, if that's what this is, I'm hanging up right n-"_

"No, it's... Well, kinda. I have news."

 _"I advise you to hurry, your ten seconds are almost up."_

"Yeah, umm... It's kinda crazy to explain, but..." Yuugi brought the phone closer to Atem and shot him a prompting look.

Atem straightened and looked at the small device as if it were, indeed, a bomb. He took a deep breath.

"Hello, Kaiba."

His greeting was met with silence. Atem waited for a while before shooting a questioning glance at Yuugi. All Yuugi did was shrug.

They held their breaths. Seconds ticked away.

Atem had started wondering whether the line had gone dead when Kaiba spoke again.

 _"Say that again, Yuugi,"_ he emphasized the name with an almost challenging tone.

Atem cleared his throat once.

"Kaiba. It's me. It's... Atem."

Another long silence. Atem glanced at Yuugi and grew even more anxious when he saw him biting his lip. This was not going well at all.

An angry stream of hissing erupted from the phone.

 _"Yuugi, if this is your idea of a prank-"_

"It's not a prank!" Yuugi said. "It's true, it's Atem!"

 _"Alright, look, I don't know who the fuck thought this was funny, but I swear to my Blue Eyes that your laughing will turn sour unless you tell me right now-"_

"Kaiba," Atem said in his most serious tone and the line fell silent again. "It really is me. I'm back. And I..." He glanced at Yuugi again, who encouraged him with a nod. "I need your help. I have a favor to ask."

There was no reply to that. The silence was so absolute Atem was sure he'd be able to hear it if a pin dropped over on Kaiba's side of the line.

He frowned at the silent phone.

"...Kaiba?"

 _"Stay right where you are,"_ came his curt reply.

The green phone icon turned red and the line was disconnected. Atem waited for the thing to ring again, but the screen went dark and remained that way.

He looked at Yuugi with a bewildered frown. "What was that for?"

Yuugi shrugged again. "Umm... Perhaps he was busy and he'll call us back?"

"Do you think he thought this was just a prank?"

"It sounded so."

They looked at each other in silence.

"Should we try calling again?" Atem asked.

"Ugh, no. He hates that. If Seto hangs up on you, the wise thing to do is to take the message and leave him alone." Yuugi bit at his lip again. He followed Atem's example and eyed his phone as if he was expecting it to blow up. "We could try... Sending him a video? With both of us in it? That way he'll see it's not a prank."

"I guess it's worth a shot."

They spent the next ten minutes trying to figure out the exact words that would convince Kaiba that the pharaoh in the video message was not a hologram—because they were both sure that Kaiba would present that argument—and then finding the optimal spot to prop up the phone.

They had just settled in front of the camera when Yuugi paused with his hand hovering over the 'record' button.

"Do you hear something?" he asked, tilting his head to one side.

Atem stretched his ears. Ιt took him a few seconds, but he did make out a noise: a distant rumbling, at odds with the ordinary city sounds. It seemed to be getting louder by the second.

"I think it's- approaching." Yuugi got to his feet and went to the window. He squinted at the horizon for a couple of seconds, then shouted, "Oh, you've got to be kidding!"

Atem jumped to his feet and ran to his partner's side.

"What is it, aib-?"

He stopped mid-sentence because his question was answered with a glance towards the sky.

High above the tops of the buildings, gliding smoothly through the air, was a black helicopter; Atem didn't even have to squint to make out the KaibaCorp logo emblazoned on its side. Dangling from the helicopter and swaying in the air was a ladder with what was unmistakably a man clinging on its end.

"Is that... Kaiba?" Atem breathed.

"Who else?"

Kaiba's black coat was billowing around him as he flew over a nearby building block.

"Is he coming... here?" Atem asked, hearing the edge of hysteria in his voice but being unable to do something about it.

Yuugi gave him a look that was both patronizing and pitying. "I won't say _I told you so_... but I told you so."

He walked to the balcony door and opened it wide. Cold immediately seeped into the well-heated apartment, along with the thundering of the helicopter's engine.

It was approaching so quickly that soon Atem could discern Kaiba, clad in a grey three-piece suit and holding on the ladder as if this was his typical Sunday morning means of transportation. Once he was close enough for his face to obtain defined characteristics, it became evident that he had already spotted Atem through the great glass front of Yuugi's house and had fixed his gaze on him. His face was set and determined, by all means looking ready to challenge even the gods within an inch of their life and refuse to take no for an answer.

This could not bode well for Atem.

Kaiba's pilots were either very competent or alarmingly used to dropping their boss off on various people's balconies, because they steered the helicopter as close as needed to allow Kaiba to hop off and land without breaking his legs or smashing his face on the glass.

They had time to see a graceful flurry of black cashmere before Seto Kaiba straightened up, looking relatively unruffled by his flight through Domino's cold airspace. He made a curt gesture with his hand, at which the helicopter rose in the air. There followed an overhead thud that made the glass rattle, and Atem belatedly realized that it had proceeded to park right above their heads, on Yuugi's roof. The engines were finally switched off and the noise died out.

Seto Kaiba brushed his coat once to return it to its natural, impeccable state, then fixed his cutting blue eyes on Atem.

" _You_."

Atem wasn't sure what to do. He waved weakly. "Kaiba," he said, hoping he hadn't sounded as uneasy as he felt.

"So it is true," Kaiba went on, approaching with slow steps, not once taking his eyes off Atem. "You are back."

From the expression on his face, Atem wasn't sure if Kaiba wanted to hug him or murder him. It could be either, or both.

"Yes, I am-"

"How did it happen? Was it magic again? A Ouija board session gone wrong, or did you solve an ancient Rubik's Cube or something? You know what," Kaiba said before anyone had time to answer, "I don't care. Get your deck."

Atem blinked. "My-?"

"Don't stall, I don't have all day." Kaiba lifted his wrist to his mouth and brought his watch close to his lips. "How are things going up there?"

 _"Almost done, Mr Kaiba,"_ a tiny voice replied through the watch.

"What- hey!" Yuugi said, throwing alarmed glances from Kaiba to Atem and to his ceiling. "What do you-?" The unmistakable sound of a drill drowned out his sentence. "What are they doing to my _roof?_ "

"Installing a temporary arena. I'm not doing this standing around like a pleb."

"You are not doing _what_?"

"Dueling," Kaiba replied, unfazed. He turned to Atem again. "Get your deck, Yuugi. It's time to settle this once and for all."

It took Atem a few seconds to realize he was referring to him.

"Kaiba, that's not my name and you know-"

"I don't care what you call yourself, get your deck!"

Atem stared at him in disbelief.

Well— he should have known that if there was one person that would brush aside the fact of a person's resurrection for the sake of a card game, that would be Seto Kaiba. Yuugi had really not been kidding.

He glanced towards his partner, expecting some guidance, but Yuugi was simply staring at his ceiling, horrified. Overhead, somebody started hammering.

Atem sighed and lifted his hands in a placating gesture. "Kaiba," he said, very calmly and slowly, "I did not call you here for a duel."

Kaiba scoffed. "If you wanted tea and hugging, you should've known better than calling _me_. Come on, get moving. I've waited too long for this."

"Kaiba," Atem said again, a bit more sternly, "we called you here for a reason. We need to talk to you."

"We can talk after the match."

"This is important. We need your help."

"And _I_ need a rematch. I've been adjusting my deck for years, Yuugi; it will take me less than five minutes to beat you, so get your ass on the roof and let's-"

"Kaiba!" Atem cut him off; the sharpness in his voice miraculously made Kaiba fall silent and look at him. "I am _not_ dueling you right now!"

Atem got to marvel first-hand at how little Seto Kaiba had changed: he had the same fierce glare, the same furious set of mouth, the same tilt in his jaw that put the whole world beneath him. One look was enough to know that his stubbornness could bend a god's will. But Atem was never one to back down, either, and perhaps that was why Kaiba had always valued him as an opponent: he was the only person in the world who could rival his stubbornness.

He crossed his arms across his chest and matched him glare for glare.

Kaiba's cheek twitched. Atem narrowed his eyes into slits.

It was a small but highly satisfying victory when Kaiba budged first.

"Alright, _fine,_ " he hissed. He brought his wrist to his mouth again. "Operation Ultimate Duel on hold until further notice."

 _"Yes, Mr Kaiba, sir."_

The drilling and hammering overhead ceased.

Kaiba looked from Atem to Yuugi, huffing in obvious irritation. "Alright. Tell me what this is about so we can get this over with."

Yuugi, evidently relieved, rubbed the back of his head and gave him an awkward smile. "It's a long story. We'd better sit."

* * *

Atem supposed that Seto Kaiba had indeed missed him in his own, peculiar way; he couldn't imagine him sitting still and actually listening to them for any other reason.

After sipping some tea, almost spitting it out, and then going on a tirade about how anything less than a Gyokuro did not deserve his palate, Seto deigned to shut up and let Yuugi talk. Halfway through the narration he took out his phone and started typing ceaselessly, but part of his attention seemed to be still on Yuugi.

"So, the Other Yuugi came back because of the Book?" he asked at some point.

Atem glowered at him, but he concluded that arguing about his name right now would really be counter-productive. "We don't know," he said. "We were hoping you could help us unravel this mystery."

"Lucky for you, I'm already on it," Seto replied, shaking his phone. "It seems that I have done business with Blackwood in the past. I don't remember him, but Mokuba might. I just texted him. As for the rest of it... A quick hacking attempt yielded no results. They are hiding their research files well."

Atem blinked. "That was... fast."

"I'm not used to fooling around."

Yuugi's face scrunched up in a thoughtful frown. "You said he is hiding his files? Isn't that suspicious?"

"Not necessarily. It's not uncommon when you are a world-famous millionaire. Everybody wants to steal even your most trivial secrets." Seto huffed and put the phone back in his pocket. "I'll need to take a more thorough look at his security. It will take a few days, at worst."

"Wow," Atem murmured, impressed. "This is amazing. Thank you, Kaiba."

Seto cocked an eyebrow. "I'm not doing it for free. You _will_ duel me."

Atem smiled. If Seto kept true to his promise, a duel would be the least he could do to repay him. "I promise I will."

"Just don't organize a tournament again."

Seto got to his feet and took his coat from where he'd draped it over the couch's back. "I won't. I'll beat you privately. Consider it a welcoming gift."

"Hey, speaking of welcoming," Yuugi said brightly, jumping to his feet and trailing behind Seto, "we are having a party on Thursday, to welcome Atem back and celebrate Malik's birthday. It'd be great if you and Mokuba joined us."

Seto rolled his eyes. "I don't have time for stupid parties, Yuugi."

"But you have time for impromptu duels on people's roofs?" Yuugi asked with a smirk.

"Yes. I save my time for the important stuff."

"Mokuba will want to come."

Seto twisted his nose. "If he wants to waste his time like that, he's perfectly free to. However, I whole-heartedly hope that I raised him better than this." He brought his wrist to his mouth. "We are leaving."

 _"Yes, Mr Kaiba."_

They heard the roar of an engine coming to life overhead.

"Well," Seto said as he put on his coat, "for the sake of pleasantries, let's say this was delightful." He fixed his acute gaze on Atem. "I will hold you to your promise."

"You won't have to. I'll keep true to it by myself."

A ladder dropped from the heavens as Seto walked out on the balcony. He climbed on its bottom rung and gestured at the helicopter's pilot.

"See you on Thursday, Seto!" Yuugi yelled.

"I'm not coming!" Seto shouted back as the helicopter rose into the air.

Once he'd left and the noise of the engines was a distant hum, Yuugi closed the balcony door and turned to Atem with a grin. "He _will_ come."

Atem wasn't sure where his partner's certainty came from, but— well. Yuugi had also been sure convincing Seto would be a piece of cake, and he hadn't been wrong about that. It hadn't been easy per se—the drill holes on Yuugi's roof would stand as proof for that—but it had worked. Not only that, but Seto had already taken action. In a few days, they might have answers, or clues to work with.

"That went... unexpectedly well," he said.

"Told you," Yuugi smiled. "I told you you didn't have to worry. And he was thrilled to see you."

Atem raised an eyebrow. "He seemed thrilled to beat my ass back to the afterlife."

"Coming from Seto, that's a sign of affection."

Atem chuckled, but the sound was drowned out quickly.

He could see that, despite his pronounced optimism, a weight had been lifted from Yuugi; he could read it in his shoulders. He even heard him humming to himself as he took the tea pot and Seto's cup to the kitchen.

Atem shared part of this relief. Of course he did; they had just taken a big step forward. It was a big deal. And he was grateful for Seto's help.

He was also grateful that Seto had accepted his return as something natural. That he'd acted as if he had been waiting for Atem to return. As if his rightful place was _here_ , in Domino, with them, playing card games like not a single day had passed.

Atem was grateful, and at the same time he wasn't. He almost wished facing Kaiba had been harder. He almost wished his return wouldn't have been so easily accepted; that it'd be seen as unnatural, or even wrong. That he wouldn't feel so much at home.

Feeling at home was a luxury Atem did not have. Because he was not naive. He knew how these things worked.

He knew that magic did not come without consequences. There was no _forever_ without paying a heavy price first.

So. He was either going to have to pay, or... this wasn't forever. This was just another mission. His time would be up the moment he was no longer needed—and that was _if_ he was lucky enough to finish the job without disappearing as suddenly as he had appeared.

Atem watched the back of Yuugi's head as he washed the teacups, gazed at the dull hair and the hunch in his back.

He'd already been in enough pain. He did not deserve more. He had never deserved any; Atem had know this from the first time he felt his conscience nudged by Yuugi's noble nature. His first instinct after three thousand years of darkness had been to protect Yuugi, and that had not changed. He guessed that would never change, not even if another three thousand years came to pass.

Yuugi had told him he wanted Atem to stay. He'd said he'd do everything in his power to make it happen.

It had been a glorious thought. It had been as sweet as a dream, but just as improbable.

Atem did not question Yuugi's determination, nor could he blame him for wanting to try. He just hoped he wouldn't get his hopes up like this, because the letdown would hurt twice as much.

That night Atem jerked awake twice, expecting to find himself under a white sun, in a field of green and gold, surrounded by long-dead relatives. The third time this happened, he rose and cracked his door open. The soft sound of Yuugi's breathing drifted in from the next room.

Atem lied back down on his bed and let the sound soothe him. He did not fall asleep again.

After three more nights like this, Atem's eyes started looking looking almost as tired as Yuugi's had on the night of his return. On the upside, Yuugi himself was looking a lot better. He admitted that his sleep had improved, which made Atem both glad and secretly aching: he couldn't help but wonder if the sleepless nights would return once he was gone.

And that was how things went in Atem's head on a constant basis.

It was hard to enjoy anything when his mind refused to stop going in circles. Every second of his day was accompanied by the grim reminder that none of this would last. Even when he was having fun, when he was playing video games with Yuugi or going for walks around Domino, it was _there_ , like an ink stain in the back of his thoughts that he could not rid before it leaked black on everything it touched.

He did not talk about it. Yuugi wouldn't like it. Yuugi would argue. He would tell him not to think like this, to have faith. He would make more promises.

Atem did not want to waste what time he had squabbling over this. He didn't want to see Yuugi's smile disappear earlier than it was due.

Yuugi of course noticed, but deflecting was easy. Atem said he was tired. He said he hadn't yet grown accustomed to his new body. The excuses were endless.

He felt a twinge of guilt deep inside every time he lied. He hadn't forgotten that he had promised Yuugi he would hide nothing, but... This was for Yuugi's own good. It was the only thing Atem could actually do to protect him.

So Atem kept his mouth shut and was grateful he made no noise when he snapped awake at nights.

Keeping himself busy helped. He displayed overt enthusiasm for Yuugi's plans for the party, thus fanning the fire and sweeping both of them in a preparatory fever.

He soon found out that occupying himself with tasks such as cooking was unexpectedly soothing. Cooking in particular was something Atem had never done before, and he was really, _really_ bad at it, which meant he had to put in extra effort so as not to burn everything down. The results of his efforts were questionable at best, but the process was satisfying.

After three failed attempts at making edible and presentable canapés, Yuugi was wise enough to hire a caterer for the party. He went the extra mile and found one who specialized in Egyptian cuisine and arranged it so they would prepare a couple of Malik's favorite dishes. Despite that, they decided to make Malik's birthday cake themselves, agreeing that a homemade cake would be more personal. Atem was inwardly pleased with this, because it translated into several attempts at baking, as well as several trips to the grocery store.

He really liked going to the store. The sheer amount of products and labels made a pleasant buzz in his mind that drowned out all other background noises. After Yuugi realized that Atem wanted to to touch and examine and try or smell every single product on every single shelf, and after hearing him exclaim 'What is _this_? What does _this_ do?' over a hundred times, he resorted to sending him to the store alone with a list of groceries and a pocket full of cash.

Atem did not mind. He had a blast taking his time to read the colorful tiny letters and compare the nutritional values of anything edible within reach. After all, he had a body now. He was supposed to care about things like _nutritional values_ , right? Even if he didn't know for how long he would get to stay in this body, he could at least try to instill healthier habits in Yuugi.

One more positive outcome was that he no longer had to use the bubble bath that smell like artificial peach. Atem dedicated one hour to sniffing at every one of the bath products and picked for him a shower gel that smelled like pine. Then he proceeded to buy all kinds of hair products, just to test the effect they would have. He was particularly curious about the _Magic Curlz Cream - Extra Strong Hold!_ one.

The one thing he refused to buy was clothes. Shower gels and conditioners were one thing, but clothes were too permanent. He couldn't bear to think of leaving behind a wardrobe for Yuugi to rid of... afterwards. It would make it too hard for no reason. And they did not need more _hard_. He had to make sure he would make this as easy on Yuugi as possible.

So he knocked himself out with consumable products, making sure he would leave behind as few traces as possible. He made his bed the moment he rose. He washed the clothes he borrowed from Yuugi after wearing them only once. He cleaned his room every day.

Preparing for his 'death' became a habit, and wasn't that what pharaohs did, anyway? Building mausoleums from the day they were born? Only this time, Atem's mausoleum would be the ultimate lack of one, because this time the point was to enable others to go on.

That was why, after everything, the _Welcome Home Atem!_ banner Yuugi procured felt like a punch in the gut.

At least he convinced him to hang the _Happy Birthday Malik!_ one at a more prominent spot. And Malik's cake took at least three tries and two trips to the store to come out perfect, which also counted as a positive development.

Thursday finally came, clear and crisply cold. Atem got ready for the party early on, wearing one of Yuugi's soft black sweaters and a pair of jeans his aibou had worn once and never again because he'd deemed they were too tight. He looked around for jewelry but he found none, so he resorted to wrapping a thin black belt around his wrist like a bracelet.

Around four in the afternoon, Atem let the caterer in and helped her and her two assistants carry everything inside. After he managed to convince them that he needed no further help, he saw them out and spent the rest of his afternoon arranging the several dishes on a table and stacking paper cups.

The sun was setting by the time Yuugi came back from work. He burst in the apartment, almost out of breath and with a huge smile on his face.

"Everybody will be here in an hour! Is everything ready? Food? Drinks? Do we have enough ice? What about-?"

"Everything is ready, aibou," Atem reassured him with a chuckle. "You can go get ready."

"Oh. Good!" Yuugi pinched the edge of his work suit and twisted his face in a way that suggested he wanted to get out of these clothes as soon as possible. Then he padded towards the bathroom like an excited kid.

Atem smiled and went to make some coffee; thankfully, he'd practiced enough to no longer run the risk of blowing everything up.

The sound of running water came from down the hallway, along with Yuugi's voice.

"Hey, 'Tem? What is this _Magic Curlz Cream_? Is it any good?"

"Oh, shit," Atem breathed and poked his head around the kitchen corner. "Don't try it, aibou! That thing is a disaster!"

"'Kay." A pause. "What about this _No-Frizz Bliss_?"

Atem pondered it for a moment. "That one's okay."

"Cool!"

Yuugi emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, dressed in jeans and a purple shirt and rubbing a towel into his scalp. "Why do you have so many hair products, anyway?"

"For experimentation," Atem shrugged. "Coffee, aibou?"

"Sure!" Yuugi replied brightly and reached out to take his cup. "Thanks, 'Tem!"

He waved a hand and poured a cup for himself, topping it with sugar and cream.

"Hey, you've gotten pretty good at this," Yuugi said after a hearty sip. Atem gave a satisfied smile and sat on the kitchen table across from him. "Anyway," Yuugi went on, "our bathroom looks like aisle C of our neighborhood's convenience store. I'm surprised you know how to use half of these things."

"You shouldn't be surprised, aibou. We had all sorts of toiletries back in Egypt."

"Really?"

"Of course. We had perfumes, make up, deodorant, toothpaste-"

"You had toothpaste?"

"Yes," Atem said, smiling at the fascination on Yuugi's face. "It was made out of salt, mint and iris flowers. Tasted nothing like the modern thing, though."

"Wow. What about the hair products?"

"Oh, we didn't have any of that. Most people shaved their heads."

"Not you, though. I saw you in Memory World."

Atem chuckled.

"No, not me. My hair was so... unusual, they considered it a gift from the gods. Or something like that." He shrugged in a sort of tired acceptance.

Yuugi laughed and twirled a strand of his own hair on his finger. Then he looked at it thoughtfully. "You know what? Dyeing it all black is so... tiring. You think I should let the blond grow back out?"

Atem couldn't help but smile. "I think it'd be a great idea."

"Then perhaps I will! I'll ask-"

He cut his sentence so abruptly that Atem tensed and glanced around, expecting to find something amiss. Then he noticed that Yuugi's smile was gone and his eyes had taken a dull and distant look. Atem knew exactly what this look was about: he was thinking about Anzu. He'd almost slipped and said her name, just there.

He felt his stomach freeze for a second. His brain practically screeched at him to _stop_ this, _fix_ this, do anything to make this look _go_.

Yuugi shook his head. "Nah..." he said quietly, looking at his cup. "I'd better leave it to a hairdresser." All previous cheerfulness had bled from his voice.

Atem swallowed. "I think it would be wise," he agreed, just to say something. He would swear the temperature had dropped a few degrees. "Umm... do you think we have time for a round of Smash Bros?" he blurted out, a lot less smoothly than he would have liked.

There was a little pinch of relief when he saw Yuugi chuckle and the haunted look slip from his face.

"Oh, I dunno... Perhaps... Yeah. Okay."

They took their coffee cups to the living room and huddled on the couch, close to each other, each one with Wii remote.

"Kirby again?" Atem huffed when he saw the fighter Yuugi chose.

"Shut up, I like him."

Atem scoffed and chose Link.

The doorbell rang during their third brawl, cutting it short. They stored the remotes away, Yuugi saying it was just as well because he was winning anyway and Atem rolling his eyes.

Jounouchi was the first to arrive, carrying a present for Malik and a six-pack of beer.

"First one here? Neat!" he said once he stepped foot in Yuugi's apartment and took a look around. "Let's get this party started!"

He fumbled with Yuugi's stereo system for a bit, until the speakers came alive with a loud and steady beat of music. He straightened up with a huge smile and rubbed his hands. Then he burst into giggles at Atem's horrified look.

"What's up, buddy? Not your type of music?"

"Is that supposed to be music?" Atem asked, scrunching his nose.

"Oh, come on! You sound like an old man!"

"He _is_ an old man," Yuugi reminded him, stuffing his own giggles behind his hand.

"We established that, technically, I'm younger than you," Atem said.

"Exactly how young are you supposed to be?" Jounouchi said, eyes gleaming with playfulness. "I mean, can you legally drink, or should I keep this beer to myself?" He eyed a can of beer in mock contemplation.

Atem chuckled. "I can drink. I just don't want to."

"He doesn't like beer," Yuugi said.

Jounouchi's brows shot up. "Really? What _do_ you like?"

"Err..." Atem hesitated. Back in Egypt, beer had been nearly as popular as water, but he had never acquired a taste for it. Sometimes he'd drink beer during feasts and rituals, sometimes he'd drink wine, but it was mostly a question of following the norm than his tastes. "I guess I'm not one for alcohol," he said at last.

Jounouchi waved a hand. "Wait 'till you try my special fruit punch. Hey, Yuug! You have fruit, right?" And he ran to the kitchen to rummage in the fridge. "By the way, Mai's not coming!" he shouted as he dropped an armful of oranges on Yuugi's kitchen counter. "She's in Switzerland for a tournament, but she said to tell Atem hi!"

It was a miracle when the heard the bell buzz under all the ruckus of loud music and Jounouchi working the blender.

"It's Honda and Shizuka!" Yuugi cried.

"Good! Bring him in, he'll help me with the punch!" Jounouchi yelled back.

When Honda and Shizuka appeared in the threshold, they went through a round of loud greeting and enthusiastic hugging and shaking Atem's hand. Atem greeted Shizuka back, inwardly wondering if she'd ever met him back in the days of Battle City; he was sure she hadn't known the truth about him, but for the life of him he couldn't remember if they'd even exchanged a word. Still, she must have heard a lot about him from Jounouchi and Honda, because she hugged him tightly and said, "It's great to have you back!"

"Hey, where's our best girl?" Yuugi asked, looking around.

"We found a babysitter," Honda said and his face fell. Shizuka grabbed him by the arm and laughed.

"He's fussing so much, he's already called her twice! I tell him to just relax, but he won't listen," she said, squeezing Honda's arm.

Honda pouted. "Well, my princess is with a stranger, how could I not-?"

"Hey, jerk face! Come an help me!" Jounouchi yelled, poking his head over the kitchen counter.

Honda left his sentence half-finished and rushed to the kitchen.

The next to arrive was Ryuji Otogi—who, somehow, had managed to look even more eccentric than he had in the past, featuring an undercut and several tattoos on his arms and neck.

"Hey, pharaoh!" he said, fervently shaking Atem's hand. "Welcome back!"

He immediately went on to fill him in all the details of the game he was currently designing—which sounded suspiciously like Dungeons and Dragons, but with an inexplicably large amount of dice involved. Atem had to hear all about how Otogi designed the fifty-three different kinds of dice necessary for his game and how each one was an innovation in an of itself, until Yuugi decided to save him with the pretense of needing him in the kitchen.

"Thanks, aibou," Atem whispered in Yuugi's ear once safely away from Otogi.

Yuugi giggled. "We once tried making a game together, you know," he whispered back. "It didn't go that well."

"Let me guess. Too many dice?"

Yuugi laughed, bumping his elbow to Atem's and leaning closer in a conspiratorial way; Atem caught a whiff of peach bubble bath. He noticed that the corners of Yuugi's eyes crinkled every time he laughed. It was... charming.

"Punch is ready!" Jounouchi shouted, emerging from the kitchen with a huge bowl full of something thick and orange. He placed it on the table, along with the rest of the food and drinks. "Now all that's missing is the birthday boy!"

It did not take long for Malik to arrive. The moment he walked in, he was assaulted by a barrage of hugging and a general chorus of 'Happy birthday!' that left him stunned. He stood in the hallway, smiling widely and looking around like he couldn't believe his eyes.

"You guys... A banner? Are you serious?" he laughed.

"You've seen nothing yet!" Jounouchi yelled and dragged him inside.

Malik blinked at the small pile of presents that waited for him on the coffee table, then straight up gaped at the table laden with food. "Is that koshary?" he exclaimed, going closer to inspect it. Then he turned to look at all of them with a huge smile plastered on his face. "Guys, this is... wow," he said and then proceeded to hug everyone.

Ryou arrived shortly after, looking a bit haggard but smiling.

"Heeey!" Malik shouted and ran to hug him.

"Hey, you precious dork," Ryou laughed. He gave Malik a very small box, tied with a ribbon. "Happy birthday!"

Malik took the present with eyes that practically gleamed with excitement. "Wow, thanks!"

Ryou smiled, content, and went to greet the rest. "I just finished my shift," he explained, accepting a cup of soda from Yuugi. "My legs are killing me."

He collapsed on the couch with a sigh. Yuugi and Malik exchanged a look and decided to combine their powers and fill a plate with food, which they placed under Ryou's nose with the instruction to _eat_.

Atem made sure to swerve past Otogi, who was talking Honda's ears off, and approached the buffet. He sniffed at the fruit punch and decided to try some, even though there was definitely alcohol in it.

"Hey, buddy!" Jounouchi popped up next to him and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. "How's it going?"

"Good," Atem smiled. "It's good to see everyone again."

Jounouchi gave him an examining look. "How've you been holding up? Yuugi said you've been a bit bored."

Atem gave a single shoulder shrug. "I wouldn't say I was bored. I just... had a lot of alone time."

"Oh, man," Jounouchi said with a wince. "Sorry I wasn't around more."

"Do not apologize, it is... understandable. You all have busy lives now, it's..." He trailed off. His immediate thought was, _It's not easy to fit me in your schedules_ , but he didn't want to risk sounding bitter or ungrateful.

Jounouchi seemed to get it, though. "No, man, we should have kept you some company. It was just... I guess it was too sudden."

"I know," Atem said with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. This is more than enough."

Jounouchi's look turned curious. "Yuugi told me you'd say that."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He told me you wouldn't say anything that'd make us feel guilty."

Atem's brow scrunched up. "Of course not. Why would I want to do that?"

"Because, dude." Jounouchi gave him a short laugh and squeezed his shoulder. "Sometimes you gotta let us know how you feel."

Atem shook his head. "I don't want to be a bother. I know my return was unexpected-"

"You know..." Jounouchi leaned closer. He lowered his voice. "Yuugi's been worried you've been holding too much inside. Now I can see why."

Atem frowned. He looked around for his partner; he spotted him sitting on the couch's armrest, laughing along with Ryou at something Malik was saying. The happy crinkles were back around his eyes.

For a couple of seconds, all he did was watch him laugh.

"Aibou has had too much on his head lately," he heard himself say. "I did not wish to add more burdens."

For whatever reason, Jounouchi burst out laughing. "Man, are you crazy?" When Atem frowned at him, Jounouchi gestured back towards the group on the couch. "Look at him! He looks better than I've seen him in months! You are no burden to him, Atem. You could never be."

Atem instinctively thought of Anzu, and of her telling Yuugi to give a second chance to their marriage. He thought of disappearing again, of leaving behind nothing but pine-scented creases on his bed-sheets.

...How would Yuugi look when _that_ happened?

He swallowed. "He does look better," he agreed in a quiet voice.

"Now all you and I gotta do is convince him to get rid of that depressing black hair. Though, to be fair, it's not _the worst_ thing he's put his hair through."

It took Atem a while to understand what Jounouchi was on about. He frowned. "What?"

"Oh, yeah," Jounouchi said with a nod. "Yuug's been through several hair phases. Wait... He hasn't shown you any pictures?"

"No."

Yuugi had shown him only a handful of pictures, most of which were of his Grandpa or places he'd been to. He opened his mouth to say that, but he was beaten to it by Jounouchi's wince.

"Oh, man, I forgot. Of course he hasn't shown you."

Jounouchi took a few seconds to look all sheepish and uncomfortable, until Atem ran out of patience and asked, "You forgot what?"

Jounouchi sighed. "After Anzu, he- well, he deleted almost every picture that included her. Either that, or he plain just refused to look at them."

Atem tried to keep the mixture of worry, guilt, pain—and anger?—from showing on his face. "Oh."

"Yeah..." Jounouchi said slowly. Then his eyes lit up again. "But! Not to worry, because _I_ have kept all evidence intact!" He took out his phone with a flourish.

Atem thought of protesting because, if Yuugi didn't want him to see these photos, then maybe he should respect that. On the other hand... he was curious.

Jounouchi was smiling in a way that made it obvious he was up to no good. "Oh, this is gonna be epic," he breathed as he searched his phone's files.

He shoved the screen under Atem's nose with a giggle. The picture on display showed a young Yuugi— _his_ Yuugi, Atem thought impulsively—looking just the way Atem remembered leaving him, down to the black choker. Except for the bangs. The bangs were dyed green.

"This was on the first year of college," Jounouchi said happily.

Atem stared at the picture, trying to take it in. Yuugi was laughing, one arm wrapped around Honda's shoulders and one around Anzu's. "Wow."

Jounouchi took the phone back. "You've seen nothing yet. Here," he gave the phone back to Atem. In this picture, both Yuugi's bangs and the tips of his hair were bright blue. Then Jounouchi showed him a photo where the blond bangs were back but the rest of Yuugi's hair was a deep violet, very similar to the shade of his eyes.

"This one looked okay for about a week," Jounouchi explained, "but then he ended up with what we call the Pink Disaster."

He swiped the screen. In the next photo Yuugi was pouting at the camera, his hair in various shades of hideous pink, while Honda was roaring with laughter somewhere in the background.

Atem chuckled. "I can't blame him for not wanting to show me this."

The next photo looked fairly okay: Yuugi had his trademark blond bangs intact, but the rest of his hair was short and a bit spiky. He wasn't smiling in this one.

The last photo showed Yuugi sitting on a couch with Honda and Malik, with a controller in his hands and looking intently at what Atem presumed was a screen. In this photo all of Yuugi's hair was black except for the tips, which were red. He looked remarkably older; the pale light of the screen made the bags under his eyes stand out.

"This one was taken a couple of months ago," Jounouchi said, somewhat less cheerful. "Right before he dyed it all black."

Atem pushed the phone away. He felt the need to wash that last image off his mind, so he looked for the actual Yuugi again. He was still on the couch, talking excitedly; when he caught Atem's eye, he beamed at him.

Atem smiled back, even as a surge of protectiveness burned its way up his chest.

He waited until Yuugi looked away first. "Jounouchi," he said then, taking his most serious tone. "I know what happened between them. Anzu and Yuugi, I mean. I know what she told him."

Jounouchi frowned at first, then he grimaced. "Yeah..." he murmured. "It was harsh, huh?"

"Do you think she really meant it?"

Jounouchi huffed with an expression that suggested that he really did not want to tread these grounds. "I dunno, man... I mean... On one hand, I'm thinking _I should've seen this coming_ , but on the other hand... You should have seen them. They were so good together."

Atem nodded. "I'm sure they were."

Well... He _hoped_ they were. Because, if they had been happy together, truly happy... Then there was still a chance this could be salvaged.

Atem would feel much better about leaving if he knew he was leaving a happy Yuugi behind. And if this whole Anzu deal was a big misunderstanding, it would be taken care of a lot more effectively if Atem was there to make things clear.

He could do that. He _should_ do that, and soon, because he had no idea how much time he had left.

"Jounouchi... Where is Anzu now?"

"Huh?" Jounouchi started. He examined Atem's face. "Oh no, man, I don't like that look. Why are you asking?"

"Please, tell me."

"Why? What are you thinking?"

"I want to know more about... what happened, and I don't want to press Yuugi into answering more questions."

Jounouchi shook his head. "I dunno, man, I don't think talking to Anzu is a good idea. She's in America right now, anyway," he added with a shrug, "so forget about it. Here, have some punch." He filled a plastic cup and thrust it in Atem's hands.

Atem took the cup but did not drink. He simply frowned. "In America?" he repeated. "She made it after all?"

Jounouchi paused and gave him an almost pitying look. "Damn... He really didn't tell you a thing."

Atem kept staring, bewildered but steadfast.

Jounouchi sighed. "Yeah, she went to America to follow her dream. She's been living there for the past seven years."

"Seven...?" Atem echoed. "What about Yuug-?"

"Long-distance relationship. Wasn't easy. Perhaps that's why things went the way they did."

Atem's lips tightened. "Then why..." he asked, his voice darkening, "did she ask him to get back together? If she knows this doesn't work, why-?"

"Oh, yeah, you see..." Jounouchi rubbed the back of his head. "She's coming back to Domino. Permanently. That's why. But hey!" he said before Atem could process this, waving a warning finger. "Don't go getting any ideas!"

Atem lowered his gaze to his cup. His mind was already racing.

If Anzu was coming back to Domino, then yes, perhaps getting back with Yuugi would work. If distance was their main problem, when this distance would eventually be eliminated...

He swallowed. Yuugi had told him clearly. Anzu's words had been, ' _You are nothing like him_.'

Atem couldn't help but inwardly repeat Jounouchi's words: they should have seen this coming. It had always been like this.

Atem could recall Anzu putting her life in danger in order to catch his attention. He remembered her being desolate when he was about to leave. And he remembered Yuugi back in Duelist Kingdom, hurt but trying to hide it, telling her that he'd call Atem because he was the one she wanted to talk to. He remembered her replying that it was okay, because they were both Yuugi.

But that was the point, wasn't it? They weren't both Yuugi. Even now, they might look alike, but Yuugi was not him and he was not Yuugi.

That had been the point all along.

So yes; Anzu would be back to Domino and closer to Yuugi, but she'd also be closer to Atem. His presence alone could sabotage his partner's chance with her.

Jounouchi was right. Atem might want nothing more than to help, but seeing Anzu could make everything worse. Even her learning that Atem was back might just... rekindle everything, just when she'd changed her mind about her marriage.

"She doesn't know I'm back, does she?"

Jounouchi shook his head. "None of us has told her, but..."

"But, what?"

Jounouchi gestured around, at the party that was still going on and the people that filled Yuugi's living room. "We're no longer the only ones that know you're back. And anyway, we wouldn't be able to hide it forever."

Atem froze. Jounouchi was right once more, of course; and the more Atem thought about it, the worse his position seemed.

Was this party a mistake? Should he have kept his return a secret?

He could feel his mind buzzing. He looked around, anxious about who was seeing him, and caught Yuugi's eye again. He was watching him with his forehead scrunched up in concern, evidently having understood that something was wrong.

Atem tried to give him his best reassuring smile, but he was too troubled to do it convincingly.

Yuugi's brows raised in silent question.

Atem shook his head, trying to signal that all was alright, that there was no reason to worry about him. Then he finally drank some of the punch, because the idea of alcohol did not sound so bad after all.

He would... figure this out. He would find the right thing to do.

A sudden surge in the noise caught his attention. Everybody was moving towards the door and shouting with excitement; it took Atem too long to realize that there was somebody on the threshold.

"Hey, it's Seto!" Jounouchi exclaimed and dashed towards the door.

Seto Kaiba was standing in the hallway, carrying a briefcase on one hand and typing on his phone with the other, displaying an infinitely larger interest to whatever was on its screen than the small crowd around him. Next to him stood another young man, one that Atem did not recognize right away: he had Seto's slender figure and almost the same, clear-cut features, albeit with a softer quality about them. His short black hair was brushed to the side in a relaxed manner, framing gray eyes glinting with warmth.

"...Mokuba?" Atem gasped, approaching.

"Hey, pharaoh!" Mokuba Kaiba said, breaking through the small crowd to greet him. He smiled widely as he shook Atem's hand. "Welcome back! It's so good to see you!"

"Mokuba," Atem repeated, still a bit dazzled. "I can't believe this. You've grown so much!"

Mokuba chuckled. "Yeah, it's good to no longer be the short Kaiba."

"You are _not_ the tall one," Seto grunted from the hallway.

"He's also not the asshole Kaiba," Jounouchi butted in with a grin.

Seto finally lifted his eyes from the screen of his phone and narrowed them at Jounouchi.

"I dare you to say that again."

"Oh, I will, cause it's true! Come on, you jerk! Stop standing in the hallway and come inside. I made punch!" he yelled and flung his arm around Seto's shoulders in what Atem thought was an overtly risky gesture. The look on Seto' eyes promised murder.

Yuugi approached them, laughing with obvious disregard for his life. "Hey, Seto! I knew you'd come!"

Seto directed his death stare to Yuugi who, remarkably, did not flinch. "Thank Mokuba. He practically dragged me here."

"Yeah, sure," Mokuba said, rolling his eyes. "Hey, bro! Are you forgetting something?"

Seto stared at Mokuba as if he had just committed high treason. Then he sighed and reached to the inner pocket of his suit.

He pulled out a plain white envelope, which he extended to Atem with a huff and a look that clearly said he would prefer to be doing anything but this. "Here. Welcome back, et cetera. Don't lose them."

Atem took the envelope with a frown and an uncertain, "Thanks."

He wasn't sure if he should open it then and there, so he glanced around; both Mokuba and Yuugi urged him on.

He ripped at the edges or the envelope and opened it. Inside was a small stack of papers and something that looked like... a card? Atem shuffled through them and saw his name on most of them—or, more accurately, the name _Atem Mutou._ There were all kinds of papers in there, from birth certificate to school evaluations. Atem picked the small card to examine it and realized it was an ID card.

He gaped up at Seto.

Yuugi peeked over Atem's shoulder at the papers he was holding. "Whoa!" he exclaimed. "Is this what I think it is?" He took the ID card from Atem's fingers and everybody gathered around him to take a better look.

Atem kept staring at Seto, trying to make his brain come up with something to say.

"Kaiba, this is..."

"Yeah, save it," Seto replied curtly. "Just don't forget our duel."

He straightened his suit, gripped at his briefcase and walked away from the small, loud group. Perfectly ignoring everything and everyone else, he planted himself on the couch, pulled a laptop out of his briefcase, set it on his knees and started typing away.

Atem blinked, mind still numb.

An ID card. And papers. All his.

Seto had provided him with everything a person needed to legally exist. Thanks to that little envelope, Atem could go on and live a normal life in Domino.

His stomach clenched. A part of him was already picturing this life, but another part of him squirmed with unease. So far, he had been careful to leave behind as little trace of his existence as possible, and this-

This made everything more complicated.

"Hey, asshole!" Jounouchi yelled to Seto. "Couldn't you give him better grades?"

"They are better than yours," Seto replied without lifting his gaze from his laptop.

"Fuck off," Jounouchi grumbled. Atem was under the impression he heard a chuckle from Seto's direction.

They spent the next twenty minutes passing Atem's papers around and remarking on them, until Yuugi finally decided to put them back in their envelope and store them in a safe drawer. Then he took Malik's birthday cake out of the fridge and, thankfully, all other matters were dropped.

"Hey, guys! Gather around!" Jounouchi shouted, gesturing towards the coffee table.

They all huddled around it. Malik knelt at the centre of the small group, looking timid but smiling wider than Atem had ever seen him. His eyes widened when Yuugi placed his birthday cake in front of him, complete with wishes written with icing and candles shaped like a twenty-nine.

They all sang _Happy Birthday_ —except for Seto because, apparently, whoever had made him had not programmed him to do fun things such as sing. Malik gazed at the little flames with a faraway look in his eyes, but he livened up again when the time to blow the candles came. He pretended to take an intense look of concentration as he made his wish and cheered along with the others once the candles were out.

"Twenty-nine, you guys! I can't believe it," he said, laughing in Ryou's tight hug.

"This time next year we're all gonna be a bunch of thirty-year-olds," Yuugi said.

"Oh, come on, dude!" Jounouchi whined. "You don't have to remind us!"

"You don't have to worry, Jounouchi," Seto said. "You'll always have the mind of a five-year-old."

"Why, you-!"

Yuugi handed Jounouchi a piece of cake, so the banter was cut short.

Atem watched everyone try the cake, admittedly being a little nervous about his baking skills, but their reactions showed that he had done a good job after all. He have a sidelong glance to Yuugi, who responded with a thumbs up _._

As opposed to his brother, Mokuba cracked jokes with everyone and even suggested a round of party games. Atem decided to stand them out and watch from the sidelines as Malik and Otogi faced off in a game involving cups and dice. Otogi, who thought it a disgrace to lose to any game that included dice, put in extra effort and soon the room descended into a cheering chaos.

Atem was so caught up with the game that he didn't realize someone had approached him, until he felt a slight pressure against his side and heard a voice in his ear.

"Having fun, 'Tem?"

He turned his head and came eye to eye with a smiling Yuugi. Without him noticing, he had come close enough for Atem to count each and every happy crinkle around his eyes.

"Yes, aibou," he breathed. "You?"

Yuugi's smile widened and it became very hard for Atem to not look directly into his eyes.

"It's great," Yuugi said. "It's been a while since we all gathered together, like this. It's all I could ask for."

Atem could smell peaches again. And fruit punch, maybe.

"I'm glad."

Yuugi's face was glowing with happiness. Atem thought how nice it would be if he could capture this radiance in a picture; forget all the other ones, with the crazy hair and the tired skin and Anzu. If he could keep only one picture, this would be it.

He brushed a stray tuft away from Yuugi's eyes and imagined what it would be like to freeze this moment. All of it. If he could just...

"Yo! Yuugi One and Yuugi Two!"

Atem jumped as if burned.

Jounouchi was yelling at them with a smirk that could be called nothing short of impish. "We're playing Mario Party. You in?" he asked, shaking a controller.

Atem glanced around. Malik and Otogi's game was over and, if his little celebratory dance was anything to go by, Malik had won.

"Umm... No thanks, I'll pass," he said hastily.

Jounouchi arched an eyebrow at Atem's flustered reaction and his grin widened. "What about you, Yuug?"

"Yeah, sure, I'm in!" He gave Atem's shoulder a quick pat and left to join the others on the couch.

Atem rubbed the back of his neck and huffed. His face felt hot. Maybe that was his cue to drink no more punch.

He set his cup down and joined the rest of his friends.

The games kept the spirits high for a while, until it started getting late and the fatigue of the day caught up with them. The music was turned down to a lower volume and they all gathered on the couch to talk in more dignified decibels. The conversation jumped around from manga to movies and, of course, Atem and his sensational return from the dead—a subject the pharaoh really felt they had exhausted.

Seto kept to himself, typing on his laptop or answering the occasional phone call, until Jounouchi smacked him on the back of his head and said, "Hey, rich boy! Stop giving us the cold shoulder! What's this for, anyway?" He nodded towards the laptop.

"I know this might come as a shock to you, Jounouchi, but some of us are working."

"Yeah, but this is a _party_! Come on, leave that thing aside for five minutes and-"

"I believe it is in your best interests if I don't, since it's _you_ who I'm working for," Seto replied, arching his eyebrow to the group on the couch.

"Who, us?"

Seto's gaze returned to the screen of his laptop. "I've been trying to hack into Blackwood's system. I've managed to break though the Council of Antiquities' security and take a look around, but Blackwood and his research group seem to keep no records there. They're either storing all records in a separate, private server, or they have no digital archives at all and work off physical records—which, by the way, I find terribly unlikely."

His words were followed by silence. Everyone glanced at one another, looking confused and a little impressed, until Yuugi said, slowly, "Wait, you mean... That's what you've been doing all evening?"

"Yes—keep up, Mutou."

"Okay," Jounouchi said, frowning. "Would you mind explaining that again, slowly?"

Seto gave a world-weary sigh. Mokuba took over.

"He's been trying to remotely access Blackwood's files. This will likely give us a clue as to what they've got so far and what they're doing—or planning to do—with their findings."

"Is that slow enough for you, Jounouchi?" Seto sneered.

Jounouchi ignored the insult. "You mean you can really do that?" Jounouchi said, glancing from Mokuba to Seto.

"Mokuba has been able to do that since he was ten. As for me, apart from being one of the richest people alive, I'm also one of the best hackers in the world. So tell me—you really think I can't do this?"

"A _yes_ would've sufficed," Yuugi murmured.

"So you can just... look at any computer's files?" Jounouchi asked again.

Seto smirked. "Yes. But you don't have to worry. I've already looked at yours and found nothing interesting."

Jounouchi turned bright red. "H-Hey!"

"Guys, focus!" Malik said, leaning forward, all sobered up and serious. He looked straight at Seto. "So they keep nothing on the Council's servers?"

"No. It's all on a private one, behind a firewall that I dare say is expertly made. Whoever made it had really wanted to hide whatever's behind it."

"So you haven't managed to hack into it?"

Seto's expression darkened. "No," he grumbled. "But I will. I'll put my team into it, if I have to."

They all glanced at each other again.

"You think there's any chance there are no files to be found?" Malik asked. "Just as you said..."

"I said there _is_ a chance they won't have digitized anything yet, but it's a very small one. We no longer live in the Dark Ages—they can't have relied on pen and paper for such a research."

Malik's brow furrowed. "It would be safer, though."

"It would," Seto agreed. "But I doubt anyone would install a firewall like that just to hide nothing."

"Hey, guys, sorry to interrupt-" Otogi said, "but... What are you talking about?"

"Oh, umm..." Yuugi stammered. He looked at Atem and then at Malik, a little lost.

Malik jumped in to help. "There's this guy we think might be responsible for Atem's return."

"Oh," Otogi said. "Can I do something to help?"

"The only one who can help right now is me," Seto said, typing so fast his fingers seemed to fly over the keyboard.

"I hope you won't get yourselves into any trouble," Shizuka said, fixing both Honda and Jounouchi with a stern look.

"Hey, don't look at me like that, I barely know what's going on!" Honda protested.

"Yeah, don't worry, sis," Jounouchi said. "You know us. We are never looking for trouble."

Yuugi snorted. "Not actively, anyway..."

With the conversation inevitably taking a turn towards Blackwood and the Spellbook, Atem found himself withdrawing. His thoughts were already stumbling on one another. All he wanted was a break.

He rose and slithered away as discreetly as possible. The balcony seemed dark and blissfully quiet, so he grabbed a jacket and headed outside.

The moment he stepped out, he realized the place was not as deserted as he'd thought. Somebody was already there, leaning against the railing, looking out towards the city; in the dark Atem made out a mane of white hair, surrounded by smoke.

Atem hesitated for a second. He'd never been alone with Ryou Bakura before. He considered turning around and walking back inside, but it was ridiculous; there was no reason to avoid Ryou. Plus, for him to be out here, it meant he wanted the same thing as Atem: some peace and quiet.

tem cleared his throat to announce his presence and approached him.

Ryou Bakura turned his head towards him and gave him a small smile. "Hey, pharaoh."

Atem leaned with his elbows against the railing. "Hey."

He let his gaze roam over the city. The cold was intense, burrowing under Atem's jacket and snapping at his exposed fingers, but the view was worth it: during the night, Domino was breathtaking in a way it never was during the day.

He gazed at the multicolored lights and sighed; his breath formed a pearly cloud which dissolved rapidly.

Ryou chuckled. "Needed some quiet, too?" Atem nodded slowly, even though he knew the gesture was likely to be lost in the dark. "Yeah, I know," Ryou murmured and turned back towards the view. He brought a cigarette to his lips.

Atem glanced at weak red glow illuminate his features, then at the smoke that swirled and danced in the air.

"I had no idea you smoked," he remarked, trying not to sound judgmental.

Ryou waved his hand. "I had quit for a few of years, but... Y'know. Things've been... stressful lately." He shrugged and took another drag.

Atem watched him in silence for a while. _Stressful_ seemed to be an understatement. Ryou seemed like a ghost, so pale he almost glowed in the night.

Atem felt as if he were looking at the sixteen year old Ryou Bakura: a person that was barely there, sad and distant, with a deep-seated exhaustion in his face. He couldn't even begin to guess how he must be feeling.

Sympathy clenched his stomach. "I am so sorry, Ryou," he said quietly.

Ryou turned towards him with a perplexed frown. "For what?"

"For what you're going through," Atem replied. He felt it unwise to mention his yami, so he simply said, "For all of this."

Ryou blinked at him, taken aback, then let out a mirthless chuckle. "It's not your fault that he's back." He lowered his gaze to the cigarette in his hand. The cold air ruffled his white bangs.

"I know," Atem said. "It's just... You shouldn't have to go through this."

Ryou raised his head and looked at him wonderingly. "No..." he said after a while. "I shouldn't. But I don't get to choose, do I?"

"None of us got to."

Ryou chuckled again. It was weird for the sound to be accompanied by such a sad expression. "Do you think _this_... was fate?"

Atem looked back towards the lights of the city. "I don't know," he admitted. "I have no idea what any of this is for."

They both remained silent for long. Ryou finished his cigarette and flicked the stub off the rail; they watched it drop and disappear in the dark.

"He always came back, you know," Ryou said at last, in a voice as low and quiet as the night breeze. "No matter how many times you beat him... No matter how many times I thought he was gone... He always came back." He kept his gaze downwards, to the street far below. "Perhaps that's my fate... To never rid of him."

Atem shook his head. "I don't think so. I don't think that's all there is for you."

Ryou laughed; the sound was harsh and bitter.

"Get back inside, pharaoh. It's your party. Your friends will be looking for you."

Atem did not recoil, despite the hostility in Ryou's tone. He fixed his pale profile with a steady look.

"You are my friend, too, Ryou. You have been my friend ever since our first encounter. That never changed, despite... everything."

Ryou stiffened; even his breath seemed to freeze in him. He slowly turned to look at Atem with a pinched expression. He seemed heart-broken all of a sudden, and Atem couldn't understand if he'd said something wrong.

He tried to dispel that look with a warm smile. "Besides," he added, "it's your best friend's birthday, too."

Ryou stared at him.

Gradually, both his body and expression relaxed. When he chuckled, for the first time there was genuine amusement in the sound. "Alright," he said softly. "Okay. Let's both go back inside, then."

Atem folded his hands over the railing and let his gaze roam the dark skyline. They didn't move right away; they stood there until the cold turned their noses numb. When they did go back inside, Ryou made them tea.

* * *

"Diabound! You're on in five!"

Bakura gave an acknowledging nod and kept jumping on the spot to keep the blood flowing in his muscles. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck. Inhaled. Exhaled slowly through his nose. His wrists were already secure in his red hand wraps, his hair up in a ponytail at Aaron's insistence.

Behind the door, the roar of the crowd had died out and the beat of the music had taken over. He knew what that meant: a short break, just long enough for the cleaning staff to mop the sweat and blood off the ring's floor.

He did not know who he was paired with tonight. He did not care. It was all the same to him.

The music faded out and a voice boomed through the speakers. That was Bakura's cue.

He put on the silicon mouth-guard, spent a few seconds being all uncomfortable and annoyed at it, and then sucked it up like the mature 3000-year-old spirit that he was and stopped mumbling curses at it.

He cracked the door open and listened.

"You know him—even if you haven't seen him, you've heard of him! He appeared out of nowhere and made heads turn and bodies drop! Beware; he may not look like it, but he is fierce! He is cunning! He is the White Devil... _Diabouuuuuuuund_!"

Bakura rolled his eyes at the commentary and walked outside. The spotlights were blinding, but it made it easier to block out the crowd. The noise was just a meaningless mess.

Someone clapped his shoulder twice. He did not turn to look. He focused on breathing deeply through his nose.

The cage stood waiting for him with its door open. He scoffed back at it before walking inside.

"And now, from the slums of Domino... Hardened by the sea and trained under the infamous Hata... With no lost matches in the past four months and a temperament as wild as his fighting style... Make some noise for _Udaiiiiiiiiii_!"

Some guy walked in the ring. Buzzed head. Muscles tight like ropes. Calculating eyes.

Bakura gave him an unimpressed look.

The door closed. The bell rang.

It was quite different from the last time. Bakura was somewhat fitter—or, at least, he was no longer the human equivalent of a toothpick. He spent a few seconds dancing around his opponent and this time he heard no jeers coming from the crowd. He guessed word about his last fight had spread, and they were expecting to see him follow the same tactic: evade until finding the perfect opportunity to strike.

His opponent must have heard about his last match, too; he did not move around much nor attack. He kept his eyes on Bakura and his guard up.

It was pretty straightforward. The other guy played it safe for the most part: tight guard, few openings. He retaliated every time Bakura attacked, but only to keep him at a distance. Bakura dodged and feinted, and he noted with satisfaction that his lungs stood up to the challenge. So far.

He wouldn't achieve much like this, though. His opponent was not a fan of taking risks, and that wasn't good news for the yami; he did not have the strength needed to break through such a defense.

Well. There was this trick he'd found handy as a scrawny little thief.

His opponent was keeping his hands close to his face and his elbows to his ribs, but his feet were free. Bakura fell low; he dove in headfirst and hooked both arms around his opponent's front knee. He knew he was risking getting himself in a headlock, but he could avoid it if he played this right. He pulled the guy's leg, held it tight, and rammed his shoulder in the guy's stomach, pushing forward. The man teetered backwards on one leg and tried to grab Bakura, but he ultimately lost his balance. They both went crashing down on the ring's floor.

Bakura climbed on top of his opponent in the blink of an eye. He even managed to get a few good hits in before all went to shit.

His brain did not even catch what exactly happened. There were hands on him, a tug and a sudden loss of contact with the floor, and then his back slammed down hard. This second of disorientation was all it took for his opponent to straddle him and lock his knees around Bakura's ribs.

The man lifted his fist. In the next heartbeat it became clear to Bakura that the floor was the anvil, the fist above him was the hammer, and his head was the very unlucky thing caught in the middle.

Knuckles came down hard on his face. It felt almost as if his skull exploded.

Panic seized him and he tried to squirm away. Then his skull exploded again. And again.

The pain was a bright light behind his eyelids. He tried to cover his face, but the blows slipped past his slack guard.

All he wanted to do was hide. Crawl away. He writhed a bit more before he paused. The cold part of his brain—the one he suspected was tempered by Zorc rather than his own thieving years—forced him to open his eyes.

 _Look_ , it told him. _Pull yourself away from the pain and look._

Something was dripping into his left eye, but he didn't blink. He looked.

He watched a fist coming down towards his brow. He took it unflinching and felt the impact travel through his bones to the floorboards underneath.

 _Think_ , his mind hissed again. _Breathe. Think._

He brought his hands to his face, pretending to guard it.

To an onlooker, it might seem like he was on the verge of giving up but, under the cover of his hands, his eyes were focused and unblinking. He brought his right wrist close to his mouth. His teeth found the edge of his hand wrap and pulled; the velcro pad that held it in place ripped off with a crackling sound got lost in the general clamor. The wrap came loose.

Aaron had told him it was against the rules to take out someone's eye or to hook his fingers into someone's mouth. He thought he'd also mentioned biting pieces off. He'd given no other restrictions.

So.

Bakura grabbed the loose end of the cotton wrap in his other hand and held on tight.

He had to move fast.

He planted his feet to the ground and braced; he locked muscles in legs, core and back, then thrust his hips upwards. His opponent was lifted off the ground. His next hit missed Bakura's head, smashing the floor instead.

From there, the easy thing to do would be to switch places and slam his opponent's back to the floor, just as he'd done to Bakura earlier. That wasn't Bakura's plan.

The yami slithered from under his opponent but did not go far; he hooked a leg around the guy's waist and climbed on his back. The cotton tape unfurled in the air. He flew it over his opponent's head like a noose, gripped it tightly, and pulled.

He felt the cotton dig into his opponent's throat.

A deafening noise rose from the crowd.

Bakura yanked harder. The guy squirmed and tried to toss Bakura off his back, but he clung on, securing the grip of his legs around the man's waist. The more his opponent moved, the worse he made it for him: every sudden movement made the wrap cut into his windpipe.

The commentator was shouting something, but Bakura couldn't tell what it was. He didn't care. He focused on holding on.

He glanced towards the door of the cage: no one was fumbling with it. No one was coming to stop him. He was still good.

The roar of the crowd was massive.

His opponent stopped trying to fight Bakura off and tried to dig his fingers under the tape, but all he achieved was to scratch at his own neck. Bakura could see one side of his face. His eyes had gone wide. He could feel him heaving.

He leaned his mouth close to the guy's ear and tried to speak past his mouth-guard and through his own panting.

"Give it up."

The guy kept squirming. His face was turning red.

The roar in Bakura's head was as loud as the one echoing in the underground hall.

The guy struggled and grunted. He went for Bakura's hands instead, but they were too far back, beyond his reach. He was growing weaker by the second. His squirming was turning erratic.

Bakura grit his teeth. He unhooked one leg and used it as leverage to slam the guy down face-first.

"Give it up," he hissed again, stressing his words with a violent tug.

His grip on the tape was relentless. He wasn't planning to let go; surely the other guy wouldn't be stupid enough to give his life for a match. He would give up. Any second now. The back of his ears was turning purple.

One of his opponent's hands stopped trying to claw at the tape. It twitched a few inches above the floor. Then tapped down. One. Two. Three times.

Bakura released him. He let the tape go and crawled backwards and away.

Noises were bouncing in his skull. There were so many voices.

He crawled until his back hit the wall of the cage. He reached with shaking fingers, took out his mouth-guard and threw it away. He took large gulps of air. Everything was spinning.

Across from him, his opponent heaved with breaths that shook his whole body.

The world was blurring in and out. Noises were fading in and out, in waves.

Bakura breathed. Someone was unlocking the door of the cage.

Why was everyone shouting this much.

The tape, still half-wrapped around his right wrist, lay unfurled on the floor of the cage like a red snake. His opponent was on his hands and knees, still trying to breathe. Coughing, perhaps; Bakura couldn't hear. Some figure knelt over the guy and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Bakura wondered if he should go help, too, but decided against it. His legs were trembling. Something was still dripping into his left eye.

The figure approached Bakura. His lips moved. Was that Aaron?

Bakura blinked, breathed. The lips moved again.

"Can you get up?"

Bakura nodded and everything blurred again. He hooked his fingers on the chain-link walls of the cage to haul himself up. Staggered. Another person was helping his opponent on his feet.

Bakura focused on staying steady and upright as he was declared the winner. Somebody lifted his arm. Then somebody else—Aaron—grabbed him and led him outside the cage.

He tried to tell the noises apart. There were whistles and shouts and cheers. A few were shouting _Diabound_. Perhaps.

He followed Aaron's grip.

It was a relief when the door of the locker room closed behind them. He could tell it was quiet in there, but a shrill ringing was making his skull vibrate. He stumbled, and Aaron led him to a bench.

Somehow, he heard him say, "That was dirty, son," as he helped him sit. His voice was serious. Not angry, but definitely unimpressed.

Bakura tried to look at him.

"'s not against the rules," he slurred.

He thought he could smell blood. He wiped at his left brow and his hand came out red.

Aaron huffed. "The _rules_ , he says! Rules or not, that was dirty as fuck!"

Bakura kept prodding at his brow. There seemed to be a cut there.

"Shoulda stopped me if you didn't like it," he murmured.

"Son, what _I_ like is a good show. And that shit out there?" Aaron stuck a thumb towards the door. "That was one _hell_ of a show. But in the end of the day, that's all it is. There's no need to go overboard. Don't get me wrong; I liked it and the crowd liked it, but do you think Udai is gonna take kindly to it? Hell, if I were you, I'd look behind my shoulder when walking down dark alleys!"

Bakura winced. That was too many words.

"Fine," he grumbled, just because he had no strength to argue, and lied down on the bench. The ceiling was moving.

Aaron materialized a water bottle out of nowhere. "Drink."

Bakura shook his head and the room swam before his eyes. "Dizzy," he slurred. "Ears... Noisy." After a while, he added, "Nauseous."

"Mild concussion, probably," Aaron said with a wave of his hand. "No big deal."

Bakura's mouth curled downwards. Of course. Why would it be a big deal?

He laid on the bench until the rest of the fights were over and the noise behind the door died out. Then he staggered to the shower, where he washed off more blood than he'd expected. He realized the cotton tape had cut into his fingers where he'd gripped it. His head throbbed.

He really wasn't getting paid enough for this.

When he got out of the shower, he found Aaron still there.

"Speed it up," he told him, throwing him a towel. "Ishido wants to talk to you."

Bakura frowned. What could Ishido want? He'd done his part; he wanted to be left the fuck alone, to smoke a cigarette and listen to no one and nothing for at least twenty-four hours.

He got dressed as fast as he could manage without toppling over. Aaron gave him a small packet with some kind of weird cold gel in it—because apparently regular ice was way too banal for this day and age—and Bakura held it over his left eye. It improved the throbbing but not the dizziness. The cuts in his fingers stung.

He made to walk towards the door, but Aaron pushed him back towards the bench. "No need to go out. He's coming here." He walked to the door and opened it. "Sir, he's ready."

"Ah, lovely," Ishido's voice responded, and then the man himself walked in the changing room, followed by two bodyguards.

Bakura gazed up with one dazed eye, the other hidden under the ice pack. "Visiting me in my dressing room? What an honor," he drawled.

Ishido came to stand before him with something like a small smile on his lips. "Aaron," he said loudly, "you won't be needed. Thank you."

Aaron bent his plump body into a hasty bow and walked outside, making sure to close the door behind him. When he saw him leave, something inside Bakura thought _shit, shit, shit,_ but he kept his expression schooled into perfect dispassion.

Ishido clapped his hands once and made his mouth shape something like a pleased smile. "First off, I think congratulations are due. That was quite a fight, Mr Bakura. And that finale! Unconventional move, but so inspired."

Bakura stared at him, expression unchanging. "Thanks."

Ishido waved a hand. "When you first came here, you said you knew how to fight. I had my doubts at first, as you very well know, but you stood up to your claim. Which is wonderful. Honesty and self-awareness are qualities I value in my colleagues."

Bakura said nothing. He was not sure where this was going.

Ishido crossed his hands behind his back and started pacing. "If I remember correctly, you had claimed to have quite the extensive skillset. I believe you mentioned also being good at purloining property and, ah- let's say, arbitrarily depriving one of their life."

Oh. _That_ was where this was going.

He lowered the hand that was holding the ice pack. Freezing droplets dripped down his fingers.

"Yes," he replied slowly.

"Good, good. Then I am sure you will be glad to hear I have a job for you. Or, should I say... A favor to ask?"

Ishido smiled sweetly; the expression reminded Bakura of a viper about to swallow its dinner.

A favor.

Shit.

He should have expected that asking him for Malik's number would come back to bite him in the ass.

He swallowed. "What's the job?"

"Ah," Ishido waved a nonchalant hand, "it is but a small thing, easily manageable for someone with the prowess you displayed tonight. I am sure it will be child's play to you."

"What is it _?_ "

Ishido's eyes glinted. "A certain person owes me quite a great sum of money. Unfortunately, he refuses to cooperate, and I have my reasons to suspect that he will try and leave the city in order to avoid settling his debt."

"And you want me to- what?" Bakura said carefully. "Find him before he leaves, or-?"

"Do not be hasty, Mr Bakura." Ishido resumed his casual strolling across Bakura's bench. "Tomorrow, a party will head to said person's house in an attempt to collect that which I am owed. We are, however, one person short." He turned towards Bakura with that same snake-like smile on his lips. "I believe you will be most suitable to fill that spot."

Bakura stared at him.

Okay. Okay, that sounded... doable. Going to some guy's house to collect some money. Perhaps beat the crap out of them, too.

It could be worse. Bakura wouldn't even be alone in this: there'd be a whole squad of Ishido's goons.

It was simple enough. Straight-forward. Child's play, as Ishido had said. And if Bakura were to be honest, that was exactly the kind of job he'd expected Ishido to give him when he'd first set foot there.

Then again, answering to this buffoon's orders was a bit disgraceful, but. Money was money.

"How much will I get payed for it?"

Ishido laughed lightly.

"I was under the impression you already owe me one, Mr Bakura. A favor for a favor—is it not how this goes? Or did you not find the information I procured for you a few days ago accurate and up-to-date?"

Of course. Of- _fucking_ -course.

Bakura fought with the words for a while.

"...I did."

A hint of satisfaction painted the curl of Ishido's lips. "Then I think you will find this a fair exchange."

Bakura's mouth twisted. Getting paid to fight was one thing; doing Ishido's dirty job for no reward at all was something entirely different. And no, he did not think a fucking phone number and an address was a fair exchange.

It was clear that Ishido was expecting a reply. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly; Bakura might have thought it was a trick of the poor lighting and his beat-up head, but he knew better by now. There was only one correct answer to give.

"Okay," he ground out.

Ishido's eyes gleamed. "Good. I am glad we have reached such a level of understanding. Ah—something tells me you will soon be an invaluable member of my team, Mr Bakura! Keep being this willing to cooperate and, I assure you, the rewards will be more than satisfying."

Bakura held back a scoff.

 _Satisfying_.

Ishido had no idea who he was talking to. Bakura had raided royal tombs and wrapped himself in more gold than what these ignorant idiots had seen in all of their miserable lives put together. Ishido's rewards were nothing more than crumbs.

"That's great," he growled.

"Excellent! Then we are done here, I think. Get some rest, Mr Bakura. Tomorrow will be a big day; you'd better be on top form."

Bakura spat out a laugh and gripped at the gel pack. "I doubt that." Damn, his head was throbbing.

Ishido had already turned to leave, but he paused to look at Bakura over his shoulder. "Try," he said sweetly.

He left, his two bodyguards following in tow. Bakura was left alone in the changing room.

A light bulb flickered in the corner. Bakura let his head drop with a huff and closed his eyes. His body seemed to be finally catching up: pain was blooming in several different spots. One of his ears was still ringing.

He groaned. He'd barely have time to recover until tomorrow. Well. That should teach him to think twice before asking for favors.

He dragged his feet to the mirror. His face was a mess. By tomorrow that would be so badly bruised he'd have no hope of going unnoticed.

He had no idea exactly _what_ they'd ask of him tomorrow. It could be as simple as having him be a lookout. Or it could be that they'd ask him to straight up murder someone.

Bakura faltered. He looked at his reflection in the eyes and his fingers gripped the sink tightly.

If they asked him to kill... Would he be able to do it? He had told Ishido he could. He had done it before. So many, many times. But that had been in another lifetime. Literally.

He did not doubt his abilities. He just hoped he wouldn't have to find out if the person looking at him through the mirror was still capable of murdering someone in cold blood.

He'd told Malik he was different. He _felt_ different.

He'd like to keep it that way.

He groaned again and rubbed his eyes. That was stupid thinking. He'd do what he had to—nothing more, nothing less. Just like today. He did not think twice before wrapping that tape around his opponent's throat, and he won. It was that simple.

"Fuck," he whispered.

The light bulb was still flickering overhead.

He needed to get out of there.

* * *

Malik was riding his bike through Domino. It was well past midnight and the streets were almost empty, but he was in no hurry. He was taking his time, enjoying the quiet and the lights. The rumble of his bike's engine was the only thing disturbing the aura of the sleeping city. In a plastic bag, swinging from the handle of his bike, was what birthday cake had remained—or, more accurately, what had managed to escape Jounouchi's jaws.

He looked at the city with fondness, then let his gaze wander upwards, towards the night sky. No stars were visible, but it did not matter. All that mattered was that he was here, doing this.

Who would've thought? Twenty-nine-year-old Malik Ishtar, riding his very own bike, with a backpack full of presents and carrying leftover cake that his friends had made for him. Who would have thought...?

Not his ten-year-old self, for sure. That Malik Ishtar would have never believed this.

Poor kid. But that was long ago.

That kid was happy now. That kid could celebrate his birthday. That kid was on his very own bike, under the clear sky, with the roads of an entire city stretching before him. No—the entire world.

He wondered if the other part of that kid was wandering these streets, too. He wondered if _he_ celebrated tonight. He wondered if he even knew it was his—no, _their_ birthday.

He gripped the handlebars and revved the bike's engine.

Thinking like this was pointless. There was no reason to ruin a perfect night. His birthday wasn't over yet; he had still many roads to cross and more than enough gas.

He thought of taking his helmet off to let the cold hit his skin and ruffle his hair. He'd slowed down in order to do just that when his phone buzzed.

He frowned. It was way too late for anyone to call. All of his friends should be asleep by now; even Ryou, whom he'd dropped off home a little while ago.

...It could be an emergency. Something gone wrong. Or it could be that Ryou had gone home to find his yami hiding behind a flowerpot or something.

Malik brought his bike to a halt at the side of the road and searched his pockets for his phone. When he found it, he saw that the screen simply read _Unknown Caller_.

He arched an eyebrow. He had an idea or two about who this could be.

He took off his helmet to free his ear and picked up.

"Hello?"

 _"Hey. It's me."_

Malik faltered. For a couple of seconds, he couldn't really place that voice; it was way too rough and cracked to belong to anyone he knew. However, he thought there was something familiar about it, so he tested, uncertainly, "...Bakura?"

 _"Bingo."_

It was obvious that the yami had made an effort to sound sneering, but it had simply come off as exhausted.

Malik pressed the phone against his ear, frowning. "Hey, hi. Umm... are you okay?"

 _"'m fine,"_ came the curt reply.

Malik pressed his lips together. The breathing on the other side of the line was unmistakably labored. He was sure he wasn't imagining it.

He had just opened his mouth to ask again if Bakura was okay and this time insist for an actual answer, when the yami spoke again.

 _"I did not wake you up, did I?"_

This display of concern was so out-of-character that Malik considered all his suspicions confirmed. Something was definitely wrong.

"No..." he replied slowly. "Actually, I'm on my way home."

 _"You weren't at the bar."_

Malik blinked. "Did you come looking for me?"

 _"I might 've."_

Malik had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. This man and his pride was a love story for the ages.

"I took tonight off," he explained. "It's my birthday today. The guys threw me a party over at Yuugi's place."

 _"Oh."_ There came a long pause from Bakura's side of the line. Then, rather hesitantly, _"Happy birthday."_

Malik was so surprised he felt his brows shoot upwards.

"Oh, hey. Thanks. Umm-"

A birthday wish from Bakura was something he'd never, ever expect to receive—and, sure, it was a pleasant surprise, but it was weird. It made his stomach clench. He gripped the phone tighter.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

 _"Are you deaf, Tomb Keeper? I told you I'm fine!"_

Malik's face fell again. Aggression was a clear sign of Bakura getting defensive; not to mention using Malik's old title to distance himself. So yeah. No matter what he said, he was _not_ fine.

If he wanted to avoid having his head bitten off, Malik would have to be gentle with this. Whatever _this_ was. "Okay," he said in a placating tone, to test Bakura's reaction. "No need to get angry."

 _"I just called to ask if you have any news. About... you know."_

"No, nothing new."

 _"Oh."_ There was another pause from Bakura. _"Okay."_ Another silence.

Malik waited.

Bakura didn't hang up. He huffed a couple of times into the phone, but did not speak. The silence stretched on.

It was a wild thought, and at any other given moment Malik might think himself crazy for believing it, but he was willing to bet that all Bakura wanted was someone to talk to. He just didn't know how to ask for it. Or was too proud to. Or—most probably—both.

Malik would have to be gentle _and_ smart about this.

He sighed. "Bakura?"

 _"Yes?"_

"Do you want to come over? I have some leftover cake."

Bakura scoffed into the line. _"Cake? Seriously, Tomb Keeper?"_

Malik shrugged, even though Bakura could not see him. "Why not? It's my birthday. And I don't feel like going to sleep yet. I could use a bit of company."

 _"And you want_ me _to come over?"_ He'd tried to sound sneering again.

"Well, you're the one I'm talking to right now. As far as I know, we're the only ones awake at this hour."

 _"I doubt that."_

There was silence again, and Bakura was still not hanging up.

"So," Malik said, trying not to smirk. "Are you coming over?"

The exasperated huff from Bakura's side would have fooled no one. _"Fine."_

Malik grinned. "Cool. I'm on two-five-th-"

 _"I know where you live."_

This time Malik rolled his eyes. "Of course you do."

 _"See you in a bit."_

With that, the line finally went dead.

Malik chuckled to himself, but sobered up quickly. He had no idea what he had just signed himself into, but he guessed it would not be pleasant if it'd made Bakura so upset. Then he made a mental note not to call Bakura _upset_ to his face, because this was something you simply did not do unless you had some sort of fervent death wish.

He put his helmet back on. He'd better not make Bakura wait outside—or, even worse, give him the time needed to break in.

* * *

He found a figure sitting on the front steps of his building, huddled in a corner where no light could reach him. Malik could not make out the face, but he recognized the mess of wild hair, unmistakably white despite the shadows. Thankfully, all locks and latches seemed to be in place; he was not sure if he should be glad or take this as another sign that something was wrong.

He turned off the engine and took his helmet off.

"Hey," the dark figure said when Malik rode off his bike.

"Hey," Malik greeted back. "How did you arrive here so fast?"

The figure shrugged.

Malik chuckled. "Okay, mystery man. Thanks for not breaking in, by the way." He reached into his pocket for his keys.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bakura getting to his feet and stepping to the side, presumably to give him the space needed to approach and unlock the door. The moment he stepped away from the threshold, the light of a streetlamp hit his face.

Malik glanced once, absent-mindedly at first. Then he did a double take and froze.

The kindest thing he could say was that Bakura was a mess. The left side of his face was red and swollen to the point where one of his eyes was barely visible; there was a nasty cut above his brow, where blood seemed to have just clotted over, and a multitude of smaller cuts on his nose and lips.

"Shit," Malik hissed.

Bakura looked away, but that just exposed more of his bruises.

Someone had beat him up. Someone had beat him up _badly_.

"What the- What?" Malik breathed, turning to better face Bakura.

By the look of annoyance on his face—as much of it as Malik could make out, anyway—he'd say the yami did not appreciate the attention. He kept his gaze decidedly away and buried his hands in his pockets.

"Just open the damn door, will you? There's no need to do this out in the cold," he snapped, and Malik saw that he hadn't imagined the hoarseness in his voice.

"What the fuck, Bakura," he breathed, but complied. He unlocked the door and held it open for the yami, unable to stop staring at his face.

Damn, those bruises were _bad_.

Bakura huffed and walked past him. Without waiting for an invitation, he set to climbing the stairs. He seemed to know exactly to which floor and apartment door to go and Malik thought it better not to ask how. That was the least of his concerns right now.

He trailed behind Bakura, up the stairs to the first floor and to his door. He unlocked it, still unable to keep from glancing towards the yami's face, while Bakura simply stood, looking elsewhere and tapping his foot.

He opened the door and they both walked inside. The moment Malik turned on the lights, Bakura grimaced and covered his eyes.

Malik froze with his hand still on the switch. It was a weird thing to admit, but he was getting more worried by the second.

"Does the light bother you?" he asked.

Bakura lowered his hand. "It's the... It's..." He made a vague gesture around his head. "Can you turn it off? Or- I dunno. Dim it?"

"Sure," Malik mumbled. He turned off the main lights, but kept on the lamp in the corner. He left the backpack full of presents on the couch, to be sorted later, and gestured towards his apartment's small kitchen.

He placed the bag with the leftover cake on the kitchen table. After a second of contemplation, he turned on the light above the stove, just to break the darkness a bit.

Bakura slunk in behind him and dropped in a chair with a sigh. He rubbed his eyes, wincing a bit when he touched the bruises.

Malik watched him, taking in as much as he could despite the feeble light.

Most of the damage was around Bakura's left eye; the brow and the cheekbone had taken the worst. This was not the result of single hit. Somebody had punched him repeatedly. And without holding back.

Damn. Just what had Bakura gotten his ass into? Had somebody assaulted him, or-?

He approached without thinking and tilted Bakura's chin up to better examine his face. The yami tried to jerk away, but the sudden movement seemed to be too much for him; a disoriented look glazed his eyes over and he immediately grabbed the table to stabilize himself.

Malik sighed. "Okay," he murmured to himself in a resigned sort of way.

He went to the freezer to look for ice. He did not have a pack, so he contemplated wrapping a few ice cubes in a towel. Then he noticed a bag of frozen peas in the back.

He handed it over to Bakura.

The yami eyed the peas first, then Malik.

"For your face," Malik explained in a tight voice. When Bakura did not move, he shook the bag. "Come on. Don't be a child."

Bakura scoffed but took the bag of peas.

The cut above his brow did not seem likely to open again, and Malik was not sure if he had a band-aid big enough for it, so he decided to let that pass for now. He leaned with his hip against the table, crossed his arms over his chest and frowned down at Bakura, worrying the inside of his cheek.

"Okay," he repeated. "What is this?"

Bakura shrugged. "Concussion, I think."

Malik rolled his eyes. "That is _not_ what I meant, but thanks." He huffed and took out his phone. A quick google search sent him to the cupboard to rummage around.

For the first time in his life, he was glad he was so prone to headaches: he had such a wide selection of painkillers it wasn't hard to find the right kind for Bakura's case. He placed a small box with pills on the table and proceeded to fill a glass with water.

"What-" Bakura started, but Malik cut across him.

"Drink it."

Bakura obeyed. He popped a pill into his mouth and swallowed it with a wince. The bag of peas was hiding the worst, but the rest of his face looked grisly in what little light could hit it. He was looking anywhere but Malik, shoulders curled inwards. The fingers of his free hand twitched and clawed at the table.

Malik sighed. It wasn't hard to see that Bakura was nervous. Probably ashamed, too, for accepting Malik's help—or company, or whatever. Even picking up the phone must not have been easy.

Bakura needed him to be kind. Not to freak out.

He sat down across from him and tried to tone down the look of concern on his face. "Okay," he said again, quietly. He kept his voice soothing, to show that he wouldn't press him to answer to anything he might not want to. "What happened?"

Bakura scoffed out a chuckle. "This?" he said, gesturing to his face and the bag of peas. "Just a normal day at work."

Malik tried to swallow down his apprehension.

What did he mean, work? Bakura had a job? And- what kind of job meant that it was normal to get beat up like _this_?

He opened his mouth, trying to figure out which question he wanted to make first. In the end, he just said, "What?"

Even with one eye visible, Bakura managed to give him a world-weary look. "My job, Tomb Keeper. Is this not what all of you humans do?"

"What- getting beaten up?"

" _Working,_ " Bakura growled.

"Yeah, but-" He paused. Regular jobs normally did not contain such a level—on any level—of violence. Unless he had an abusive boss, or-

Violent... clients.

This was getting worse the more Malik thought about it.

"Who did this to you?" he asked, feeling alarm pulsing in his throat.

Bakura sighed in a perfect display of boredom. "It's what I do now, Tomb Keeper. People pay me to fight. Earning a few hits is part of the deal."

"A few hits?" Malik echoed in disbelief. Then he shook his head. "What do you mean, _fight_? You beat people up to- why?"

"People place bets, I fight. It's that simple." Then Bakura smirked. "It's quite honest work, actually."

Malik blinked at him as he processed this. Gradually, a bit of his alarm abated and bewilderment took over.

Bets. Fighting.

No one but Bakura would have called something like that _honest work_. One the other hand, Malik guessed it was more honest than stealing, or being a hit man, or... whatever it was that Malik had initially expected. He wondered if that meant somebody had actually employed Bakura—although he had no idea where in Domino one could land such a job. Malik had not heard of such a place.

"So... You are talking about something like 'Fight Club' with bets?"

Bakura's one visible brow scrunched up. "What's a fightclub?"

"Never mind," Malik waved a hand. Trust Bakura to find the most obscure place of the city in less than a month. "Why would you even agree to that?"

Bakura shrugged. "It's a job."

Malik opened his mouth to ask if stealing wouldn't be simpler, but he stopped himself; did he really want to sound like he was condoning theft? Well. Compared to getting his face beaten up like _this_... Malik thought that yeah, he might prefer it if Bakura survived by stealing.

Oops. Maybe he wasn't as much of a _neutral good_ as he'd thought.

And maybe Bakura couldn't really get by on stealing alone. Without the Ring, and without Zorc or shadow magic... Perhaps finding a job, any job, had been a necessity for him, King of Thieves or not.

Malik wondered if the money Bakura made from this were enough to make ends meet. He wondered if he had a decent place to stay. Hell, Malik would be willing to let him camp on his sofa if he needed to; perhaps even help him land a better job, or lend him some money. Bakura didn't have to keep doing _this_ , he could-

"No," Bakura said sharply.

Malik blinked, perplexed.

Bakura breathed out hard, looking annoyed. "I can tell from your face what you're thinking, and stop it. I don't need help, I don't... I'm fine on my own."

Malik sighed. "Don't be stubborn. You don't have to do this, I can help-"

" _No,_ " Bakura said again, firmly. Then he huffed. He took the bag of peas off his face and glared at it; the sudden reveal of the bruises made Malik's stomach squirm. "Look, this was a bad idea," Bakura grunted, gesturing vaguely to the peas and the kitchen around him. "And- it's your birthday, I... I'd better get going."

He threw the bag on the table; the peas made a scrunching, grating sound, loud in the narrow space. He made to get up, but Malik stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Hey, don't, just- sit down. Please."

He met the yami's red glare. It was dark in the small kitchen—way too dark for Malik's taste—but the expression on Bakura's face was clear. He wasn't really annoyed; that was just a cover. He was unsure. He was disheartened. And he was definitely lonely. Malik couldn't bear to let him leave like this.

"Sit down," he said again, as gently as he could manage to sound at the moment. "Let's- Let's eat some cake. Please. I promise I'll shut up."

Bakura glowered at him, but Malik did not let go of his arm.

Eventually, Bakura huffed and fell heavily back in his chair. For a couple of seconds he glared at nothing in particular. Then he grabbed the bag of peas and put it back on his face.

"This damn cake'd better be worth it," he growled.

Malik's lip curled. He took the box with the leftover birthday cake out of the bag and placed it between them. There wasn't much left, but it would be enough. He grabbed two spoons from the drawer next to him and slid one towards Bakura. "Here you go."

He cut a huge bite with the side of his spoon. Bakura mimicked him, sniffing at it before eating it.

"What is this?" he asked around his mouthful.

"Salted caramel."

"It's good."

Malik smiled and dug into the cake. "It sure is."

He decided against informing Bakura and Yuugi and the pharaoh had made it. It'd be a shame to see him gag over such a nice dessert.

They munched in silence, Bakura rearranging the bag of peas on his face every now and then. Malik cringed every time he caught a glimpse of his injuries, but he refrained from saying more. He really didn't want to cause Bakura to bolt.

However, he couldn't help but worry. If he let him, he'd drive Bakura to a hospital right now, to check that concussion and all the other injuries that Bakura was undoubtedly hiding. He'd at least check if there was anything broken. Bandage him up properly.

He licked at his spoon, shaking his head to himself. He was fussing again. Ryou was right: he really was a mother hen.

...He wondered what Ryou would say if he knew about this.

Hell, scratch that—he wondered what Ryou would say if he saw Bakura right now. Surely he wouldn't be glad he'd gotten his face wrecked. He wasn't _that_ vindictive—not really. He was the most compassionate person Malik knew. He was willing to bet that if he saw Bakura the way Malik saw him—if he saw his human side instead of the fucked-up Zorc version he'd gotten to know—then perhaps he would change his mind about him. At the very least, he would stop being so freaked out about having his yami back in the city.

He shook his head again. That would never happen. Ryou wouldn't even agree to be in the same room as Bakura, much less get to know his human side.

"The hell you're thinking about, Tomb Keeper?" Bakura asked. Malik blinked; the yami pointed his spoon at him, a chunk of cake still on it. "I can see you're thinking about something. Come on. Spit it out."

He'd leave Ryou out of this. Things were tense as it was.

"I'm just thinking that your face is a mess," Malik said.

Bakura shrugged and shoved his spoonful into his mouth. "Can't say you're wrong on that one."

"How did it happen?"

Bakura probably aimed for a nonchalant grimace, but it came out as a wince. "I was reckless. This guy mounted me and smashed my face in. Took a while before I managed to turn it around."

Malik set his spoon down, his stomach suddenly queasy. "The fuck..." he whispered, trying hard not to picture it.

Bakura shrugged again. "I won."

Malik shot him an incredulous look. "Your face looks like a raw steak and _that's_ what you care about?"

Bakura scooped the last of the icing from the box and licked it off his spoon. "I've got a reputation to uphold."

"I'd worry about your brain being damaged from all that beating, but it seems you don't possess one," Malik grumbled. He gathered their dirty cutlery and threw them in the sink.

Bakura chuckled as he rummaged in his pockets. He set the bag of peas aside and started laying his smoking paraphernalia out in front of him.

Malik grimaced at the tobacco bag. Bakura noticed.

"Does this bother you?"

Malik would normally say yes, but having Bakura not only notice his disdain but also be polite about it was overkill. Plus, he couldn't deny him much when he looked like _that_.

"I'll just crack the window open," he said and stretched out to reach the latch; one good thing about living in such a small apartment meant everything was within reach almost at all times.

It was cold outside, and the kitchen turned chilly quickly, but Malik didn't care. He'd like to keep Bakura there as much as possible, mostly because he had no idea _where_ he'd send him off to once the time came.

He watched the yami as he caught a filter tip between his lips and spread tobacco evenly across a rolling paper. When he tried to roll it, he winced again. Malik squinted and managed to make out something like a gash running across the inside of the yami's fingers.

Α small hiss of pain escaped Bakura's lips; the thin paper crumpled and tobacco spilt outside. He took out a new piece of rolling paper.

Watching him struggle made Malik's chest feel strangely constricted.

"Are you still feeling dizzy?" he asked in a low voice.

Bakura shrugged.

"Do you want to stay here tonight?"

Bakura's hands paused for a second. Then he resumed his movements. He brought his newly rolled cigarette to his lips and licked across the paper to seal it.

He shook his head.

"Okay," Malik said quietly. "In any case... You can stay as much as you want."

Bakura lit his cigarette and took a drag. The tip glowed red for a long time.

"Thanks," he said gruffly.

Malik nodded. He rose to look in his cupboard for his bottle of whiskey. He poured a couple of inches for himself and sat back down.

The only thing that moved in his kitchen was the smoke from Bakura's cigarette, spectral in the half-light. Malik leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Sitting in a dark, cramped kitchen, keeping company to a badly-bruised yami wasn't what he'd expected of his twenty-ninth birthday. But hey. It wasn't so bad. Sharing the silence was nice. And he hadn't expected any of the things that had happened to him, but somehow... It had all worked out.

It wasn't bad at all.

"What the hell are you smirking at?" he heard Bakura growl.

Malik's grin widened. "Nothing."

.

.

.

.

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End file.
